


The Hourglass

by Tyanilth



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-18
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-08 01:38:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 58
Words: 141,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyanilth/pseuds/Tyanilth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the Landsmeet. Alistair is to marry Anora. Loghain's surrender was accepted, and Muirnara Cousland is left trying to hold together the rags of a party, a battle plan, and her own sanity, with poor success on all three fronts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - Before The Daylight

TEN YEARS BEFORE OSTAGAR

" Time, bring back  
The rapturous ignorance of long ago,  
The peace, before the dreadful daylight starts  
Of unkept promises and broken hearts. " - John Betjeman

 

Highever in spring was as beautiful as ever, with all the plum orchards in bloom as they had come along the coast road, and white sailed fishing boats dotting the windswept bay like sea birds. Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir remembered the last time he had come here, it had to have been ten years now in another springtime, to attend the Chantry's blessing of the newborn daughter in Teyrna Eleanor Cousland's arms, a regal scrap of humanity with a down of fair hair glistening on her tiny round head, and a voice which could summon spirits from the Fade by its intensity. Not that he would have made that joke of course. Nobody wanted the implication of magical ability ill-wished on their child, however light heartedly. At least it seemed unlikely in this family anyway, the Couslands had never had a mage show up in their lines in living memory. They must thank the Maker for that blessing at least, daily. He remembered the lad now walking beside him from that visit as a sturdy child of five, enraptured by the wooden sword and shield that he had been presented with by Loghain's wife Celia. Bryce had fondly ruffled the boy's yellow curls. "Teyrn Loghain, Teyrna Celia, you could not have found something that would please him more. But you may have to watch out for my wife - she firmly informed both Fergus and myself, that he would not be permitted to start arms training until he was six!"

The Teyrna had indeed not been amused, he remembered, but Eleanor's manners in public had been as impeccable as ever. If she had berated her husband in private afterwards, none but Bryce would ever know of it. And now he was returning alone, a widower, and the little boy with blonde curls was now a tall stripling with cropped dark hair, his bare arms showing the well developed muscles and the training scars of a fighter. The one was all Bryce's, give him time to fill out his lanky frame and he would be the image of his father when Loghain had first known him. His training had clearly not only been in arms either, he had greeted the arrivals at the gates with the poise and courtesy of a much older man, had briskly dealt with the detachment of men at arms that had followed them, summoned stablehands to take their horses and had given orders to the elven servants as to where the men would be quartered, and the provision of food and washing water for them. The orders had been obeyed with alacrity and with nods and smiles from the servants, none of the cringing servility that was so commonly seen.

This one will make a good Teyrn for Highever when the time comes, Loghain had thought. Bryce has trained him well. Then he had pushed the thought aside, and had made a conventional and polite inquiry as they walked about the health of the boy's parents. Fergus had made an equally conventional answer, explaining that both the teyrn and the teyrna were expected back to the castle for the evening meal, they were at Highever village itself giving justice at the monthly Folkmoot and had not expected Loghain's arrival for at least another day. "So any failures in protocol or courtesy are entirely my fault until they get back, Your Grace," he had said, with a hint of a smile that reminded Loghain of how young a man this still was, there was more of the cheerful child there than might at first have been thought.

Loghain was about to answer that, when an older woman erupted from a doorway to stand in front of the two of them, arms akimbo. "Master Fergus, have you seen Miss Muirnara anywhere? I turned my back on her for five minutes, and she was out of the schoolroom door and away. I've tried the mabari kennels, and the kitchens, and she wasn't there."

"Sorry Nan, no I haven't. Try the stables. She might be there with her pony."

"Little scapegrace. Just wait till I get my hands on her this time." The woman who Fergus had addressed as Nan stormed off in the direction of the stable yard and Fergus turned an apologetic gaze on his guest. "Sorry, as you might have guessed, that was my old nurse, now nurse-governess to my younger sister."

"No apologies are needed." Loghain turned his gaze away from Nan's disappearing form, and glanced back at Fergus. Now, was that the hint of a blush at the edge of his collar? "Now tell me, where do you indeed think that your younger sister is? You fed that poor woman a masterly piece of misinformation, but it is clear to me that you sent her off in completely the wrong direction."

There was definitely a blush there now. "I did not believe myself to be so transparent, Your Grace. It is just possible that my sister Muirnara may indeed be down at the stables, but I think it is far more likely that she is at the training yards. But since she is only supposed to be there with the supervision of one of the household knights, telling that to Nan would be to pour oil on flames. If you will permit, we will pass that way ourselves so I can catch her there and warn her to get back."

"Of course." They altered their direction towards the grassy areas by the eastern castle walls. Fergus chuckled. "It was just as well that Nan did not recognise you, Your Grace. She has driven the servants into enough of an uproar for your expected arrival tomorrow, if she had become aware that you were here a day early the whole place would have erupted by now. I thought that all was lost when she appeared."

Loghain had a wry smile on his face. "Come now, Ser Fergus, everyone in Ferelden knows that Teryn Loghain Mac Tir wears Orlesian plate armour, and has dark braids around his face. Therefore a middle aged man in black leathers and with his hair scraped back into a tail cannot possibly be the Teyrn. I am the least recognisible person on Thedas. Or the most. Depending which way you look at it."

They had reached the training ground. Most of the sparring areas were clear, but in one, a young red haired boy of around twelve, and a blonde girl a couple of years younger were battling with blunted practice blades. From Fergus's sharp intake of breath it was clear that the girl was his sister, and they both paused. Fergus's face was a mask of disapproval. "Little hellcat. Mother would be hitting the roof if she was watching. No helm, no practice leathers, the armsmaster isn't here to supervise. And young Rory Gilmore ought to know better than to encourage her. I don't know how it is that she always seems to get all the castle misfits on her side against their better judgment."

Loghain found himself studying the young girl with curiosity as she blocked a blow from the boy with the small wooden buckler she carried in her left hand and followed it up with a swing that he only just parried. Her strokes lacked any finesse as yet, but her speed was admirable, and the sound of wooden blade on wooden shield suggested a fair amount of physical strength for a young girl. She was clad only in a short woollen tunic and trews, her coltish bare legs and arms showing many scratches and scrapes, and at least one new bruise where the young squire - Rory - had managed a blow past her defences. She appeared to be paying the bruise no attention. Her face, still childishly rounded was streaked with sweat as were her fair curls, pale blonde and raggedly cut just short of her shoulders. Fergus noticed Loghain's study and grimaced. "She cut her hair herself with a dagger, couple of months ago. Claimed it was in her way when sparring. Mother nearly had apoplexy, Nan's head exploded and Father informed Muir that if she ever did it again, he'd blister her backside for her with her own sword belt in front of the whole Great Hall. The trouble was that he was trying so hard not to laugh while he was telling her off, that it wasn't the most successful threat ever. Mother followed it up by threatening to stop her sword training till the autumn, and that did get an apology out of her. Eventually."

At that point Rory Gilmore managed a side swipe that caught the girl's upper arm, and the two broke apart and grounded their swords. Fergus was in between them in three swift paces, catching the girl's arm. "Muir, Nan is on the rampage, and you know perfectly well you shouldn't be here." He turned to look at Rory who was backing away with a red face. "And as for you, young Master Gilmore, get your backside down to the armory and tell the armsmaster that I've sent him a little helper, since you clearly have too much free time on your hands."

The boy nodded, muttered something inaudible, and scurried off. Muirnara had folded her arms and was looking sulky, though she had spared a quick appraising glance for Loghain, showing no recognition but a lot of interest, especially for the longsword he wore. "Oh come on, Fergus, Nan had got me doing embroidery all morning. I was so bored. Nobody ever forced you to do that." Her mischievous gaze flicked to Loghain, she seemed to have assumed he was a visiting knight from within the teyrnir. "I will bet you, Ser, that nobody ever expected you to so much as thread a needle while you were in training."

"On the contrary." Loghain found himself mentally comparing the girl to his own daughter at the same age - Anora had been taller, but not by much, and considerably less of a tomboy. She had certainly never sneaked off to the training yards, at least not as far as he could remember, after being taught the very basics to permit her to defend herself at need. Anora's weapons were her tongue and her quick brain, and later a political acumen that had amazed Loghain, wondering just where she had learned some of it. "A soldier learns to take care of his own kit, young lady, and that includes his clothes. Nobody forced me to learn fancy embroidery, it is true, but I spent enough time darning socks and shirts. No skill is ever wasted."

The sulky face brightened. "I could not agree more, ser." The mischief was plain on her round face. "So perhaps since you just watched me lose a bout of swordplay, you would be kind enough to give me a few pointers as to where I went wrong? My brother cannot possibly object to that, since he was so unhappy at me being here without a knight supervising the practice?"

Fergus looked almost set to explode. Loghain looked from one Cousland sibling to the other, and then laughed. "Excellent tactics, young lady. Divide and conquer, with a hint of flattery?" Her face fell, and then the smile was back as Loghain unbuckled his own sword belt and laid it on the floor. "Be so good as to bring me one of those practice blades?"

Fergus sighed as the girl scampered towards the sword racks. Loghain clapped him on the shoulder. "Cheer up, lad. Now, it isn't a case of you allowing your young sister to get away with mischief, it is a case of you humouring the whims of an older guest. No blame attaches to you."

Muirnara returned and presented the blunted metal blade to him formally, laid across her wrist. Loghain took it and saluted her with the gravity he would have given to a much older opponent, unslinging his own shield from his back and looping it over his arm, a plain and unornamented wood and metal kite. She dropped back a pace and returned his salute, with a intense expression on her face and no smile now, that look belonged on a fighter many years older than she was, an careful assessment of a new duelling partner. No, it would not do to underestimate this one.

He started with a formal drill sequence, counting a slow stroke time out loud, adding comments. "Shield up, no, up further! There, and no lower, your shield is useless to you round your ankles. Shieldwork is the essence of good fighting, do not neglect it. " He picked up the pace a little, taking care not to put force behind his strokes. Abruptly she altered the pattern and tried a thrust, he caught it with his own shield and threw the blade aside, almost disarming her. "Never on a taller opponent, young lady. Not ever." He laid a smart touch over her ribs with the flat of his blade, hard enough to sting. "If you turn your body to prevent the loss of your blade, you leave your whole side open."

She gasped at the blow, but nodded grimly and came at him again. He caught stroke after stroke on his shield, then shifted his position, drawing her forward, as she came after him he saw her shield drop again and instantly was under her guard, the point of his blade at her neck. "You see what I mean?"

She nodded and dropped back. "My thanks to you, Ser." She saluted him again and stepped away. He returned the salute and turned away to return the sword to the rack. As he walked back, he could see that a familiar face was walking to join them, Arl Rendon Howe. Muirnara appeared to have seen him too, and with a muttered word to Fergus she was away, running in the direction of the forsaken schoolroom. Loghain reclaimed his own swordbelt and greeted Howe formally.

Howe seemed amused. "Giving Bryce's little spitfire a lesson in swordplay? I hope Eleanor doesn't find out, she thinks Bryce encourages the girl enough as it is."

He nodded. "For her age she's not bad at all." He looked back at Fergus. "I don't imagine that you will betray me to Eleanor, will you?"

"Of course not." Fergus gestured and the three men started to walk back towards the main hall. "Just as well Muir didn't realise who you were, Your Grace, you've been a hero of hers for years. You'd never have got a word out of her, just tongue tied gazing."

"Maker forbid." Loghain had winced at that.

Howe laughed. "The halo weighs heavy these days, does it, old friend?"

"Perhaps." He looked thoughful, his gaze drifting in the direction that the young girl had gone. "Ten years old is too young to become disappointed in your heroes. Their feet of clay show soon enough when you get older. For a little while longer, let her keep her dreams."


	2. Chapter 2

_**" And when the hourglass has run out, the hourglass of temporality, when the noise of secular life has grown silent and its restless or ineffectual activism has come to an end, when everything around you is still, as it is in eternity, then eternity asks you and every individual in these millions and millions about only one thing:**_

_**whether you have lived in despair or not."**_

_**Soren Kierkegaard, "The Sickness Unto Death"**_

_**Danish philosopher (1813 - 1855)**_

 

 

_**ONE YEAR AFTER OSTAGAR  
SIX WEEKS AFTER THE LANDSMEET  
  
**_

The camp was silent. Most of her companions had gone to bed hours ago. Shale and Wolf, the Mabari, were somewhere out on perimeter guard. She would have to redraw the night guard roster at some point, but for the present those two were on permanent duty. Shale didn't need sleep. Wolf took his sleep in short naps whenever he felt like it and when there were no Darkspawn to chew. And at least those two could reasonably be guaranteed not to defy her and try to kill Loghain when she wasn't there to prevent it. She doubted the same could be said of anyone else in the camp. Her eyes fell back to her task. Hands moved mechanically. Mind spun in vicious circles.

_I am Muirnara Cousland. Daughter of Bryce and Eleanor. Sister to Fergus. Aunt to Oren. Last survivor as far as I know, of all those named. I avenged them. Vengeance does not end pain._

The whetstone scraped delicately over the edge of the silverite dagger. The edge was smoothed to a razor's sharpness hours ago. She seemed oblivious to this, the stone continued to make its passes in a regular, mind numbing rhythm.

_I am Muirnara Cousland. Leader of a band of misfits collected from all over Fereldan. An elf who when we first met tried to kill me, and has ever since tried to bed me, without success. A mage who thinks she's my grandmother and who dishes out advice that I don't take, on a daily basis. A Qunari who thinks I should be at home bearing children, a witch who never gives me the slightest idea what she thinks, a templar...No!_

Scrape. Scrape. Whetstone fell to the floor with a curse, the dagger followed it. She had promised herself she wouldn't think of him. Not tonight. Not the man who had loved her, and who now would look on her as yet another betrayer. The man who she had pushed into marriage to a woman that he didn't want, to consolidate his hold on a throne he wanted still less, and who then she had betrayed a third time by sparing the life of the man he wanted most to see dead at his feet.

_I am Muirnara Cousland. Lover of Alistair Theirin, bastard heir to the throne of this land. And now his enemy. His enemy for the sake of a man who is somewhere down by the river, and who probably hates me as much as Alistair does, and for the same reason. Because I spared his life._

So that didn't work. Trying to numb her mind with repetitive tasks only brought her thoughts back to the one place she was trying to avoid. She picked up dagger and whetstone and held them in her hands, staring at them, unseeing. The only thing before her face now was the look on Alistair's face when she had accepted Loghain Mac Tir's surrender - the look of a man who has just received his death blow, from the last direction he would ever have expected it.

There were footsteps coming up through the trees. Instinctively her hand went to her dagger hilt, though over the last weeks she had learned to judge her newest brother's footsteps as well as any of her group - not to mention that odd, tugging sensation that told her in which direction he was, as surely as her sense for darkspawn, and for the same reason. Alistair had had the same resonance in her head, but the two felt different - she had deliberately not tried to analyse just how different, because that meant thinking about Alistair again.

The dark shadow coming out of the trees resolved itself into Loghain, stripped to the waist despite the coolness of the autumn night, and clad only in an old pair of leather breeches below that. His dark hair was slicked back to his head with water, and the towel he carried over one shoulder was wet. He tossed it down beside the fire, and then, rather unexpectedly, sat down beside it, carefully out of arms length of Muirnara and equally carefully not in the spot near the tents where Alistair had always sat. Someone must have warned him about that, it was a mistake he had never made, even on the first night. A degree of sensitivity that she would not have credited him with possessing.

"Warden" His voice was carefully neutral, an acknowledgement of her presence, no more.

"Loghain." Her own voice could have been a copy of his. "There is another towel behind you. Zevran left it there. It should be dry by now if you need it."

With a nod of thanks he turned away to pick it up, and Muirnara's brow furrowed. His hair wasn't slicked back at all - it simply wasn't there.

"I cut it." Loghain's voice was muffled as he vigorously toweled his head, and she started slightly. He looked across at her, and the sardonic smile that she had last seen on his face as he knelt before her, waiting for the death blow was back again. Though possibly tinged with a small amount of more genuine amusement. "I take it that was indeed what you were looking at?"

"You look...different" That seemed a safe enough statement. His face before had always had its frame of dark hair, and those two braids hanging down. Now the hair was cropped to no more than an inch all over, slightly unevenly, possibly with a dagger blade. It made him look younger, the grey hairs were less visible, the hawk's face bare and unshadowed. If he had just cut it himself, then he had done a better job than Alistair used to do, back in the days before she had taken over cutting his hair for him. Alistair had had a genius for hacking off his hair in a manner that would raise the eyebrows of a scarecrow, tufts sticking up at every angle. And here she was, thinking about him again...was there anything in this whole camp that didn't draw her mind back onto the same destructive path?

"Muirnara, this serves for nothing. You made a hard choice, a general's choice. He chose to make that harder. One of you had to be the strong one, and it was never going to be him."

She blinked. "And when did you start reading minds, Loghain Mac Tir?"

"It doesn't take mind reading." He was shrugging a shirt over his shoulders as he spoke. When he continued, his voice was more formal. "Warden, I have been in this camp for weeks now. I have watched you torment yourself over and over. There comes a point where the self torture has to stop. He forced your hand. You did not want the Landsmeet to end the way it did. But you knew what had to be done. He was and is a boy, a boy who believes that all the fairy stories come true, and that there will always be a happy ending somewhere. Cailan was the same. But you and I, Warden, learned in the same hard school, that the happy ending is far beyond the reach of most of us. Sometimes all that you can hope for is an ending."

"Thus speaks the general to the foolish soldier?" Her voice was ragged, there were tears not far behind it, held down with an iron will.

"Thus speaks an older man to a young woman who has had to bear too much." His voice was unexpectedly gentle. "You are much of an age with my daughter. And for a father, daughters never grow up, they remain six years old, with pigtails, forever. Anora is a strong woman. But she is also capable of tormenting herself over decisions. And I say to you what I have said many times to her. Question yourself by all means, but once the decision is made to the best of your ability, make it, and go on. Do not cripple yourself."

"You are not my father, Loghain." Her voice broke then, memories of Bryce Cousland attacking her defences from another direction. The words however were something that Bryce could have said.

"I am not your father, Warden." Loghain agreed. "Nor have I any wish to be. But I knew your father, and respected him. I think you know well what he would have said to you."

She dashed the traitor tears from her eyes, turning away for a moment so that he would not see them and getting up to put more wood on the fire. The kettle that hung over the fire on a metal tripod was bubbling gently, she tipped some of the contents into the teapot that sat warming close by, and added a piece of honeycomb. "Would you like tea?" The question was a peace overture, of a guarded kind.

"I would. Thank you" He pushed a mug over to her, and watched her as she filled it, then her own cup and returned to the seat by the fire.

She took a sip from her cup, curling her hands around it for warmth, a chilly wind had got up in the last hours since darkness fell. Her green eyes met Loghain's for the first time since he had come to the fire. "So why have you cut your hair?"

"Because I am no longer a general" The answer held some amusement

"That doesn't make sense"

"Yes, it does, Warden. A general stands back from a battle. He watches it, he makes strategic decisions. But unless the battle goes badly wrong, he is isolated from the fray, because his men need him to be able to make decisions instantly, not in the middle of a close combat where all thoughts are on survival" He ran an hand over his head. "Now I am once again a foot soldier, in a different war. And as my best sergeant once said, long hair is a luxury a foot soldier cannot afford. You can trap it under a helmet, but the first time that helmet is knocked or dragged off, you have given your enemy a handle to catch you with, and yourself an obstruction for your eyes. If the choice is to pay for your vanity with your life, then better to shear it off. If you live to see the peace, then there is time to grow it again."

That stung. She found herself, probably as he had intended, remembering the duel at the Landsmeet. Her helmet had indeed been knocked askew by a blow which she had dodged literally at the last second. She had ripped the damaged helmet off as she spun away towards a wall, and in doing so, pulled her hair loose from the tight chignon she normally twisted it up into. Half blinded by the silver-blonde cloud, she had been taken unawares by Loghain's next attack, and all that had saved her was the muscle memory gained over the hours and hours that Zevran had insisted she spent learning to fight with a blindfold on, trusting her other senses to judge her attacker. She had taken many scars in those training sessions before she had learned to judge the opponent's moves by the movement of air, the sound of a blade cutting towards her, the heavy breathing of an assailant.

He was watching her, and she could see the same memory on his face. "You knew all of that already though, Warden. But you didn't make the logical decision from it."

There was a challenge in his voice. She looked down again. Thoughts flickered through her mind, old memories of her mother brushing her hair as a small child, then closer memories of Alistair beneath her during their lovemaking, her hair a silken curtain falling around them both, his hands buried in it, twisting the curls through his fingers.

_And if Loghain Mac Tir is reading my mind yet again at this point, then I wish he would mind his own business_

She pushed the vicious thought away. Uncertainly she touched the tangled hair that she had roughly twisted up at the nape of her neck after her own chilly bath in the river, and realised that her other hand was already on the dagger she had sharpened earlier. Her hand shook slightly as she turned the blade over in her fingers.

He watched her for a few seconds, then took a pace across the circle and lifted the dagger out of her hand. "Remember what I said to you about crippling yourself after you have already made a decision? That goes for slicing your own fingers, as well as for tormenting your mind." She looked up again, but there was no mockery in his face. "You've carried too many things alone, you've had to do too many things yourself. This is a very small thing - let me do this for you, Muirnara."

Her name again, not the bland, impersonal title of Warden. She looked at the dagger blade in his hand. "I don't want to do it here. If Wynne came out and saw you with a blade at my throat..."

"True." He offered her a hand to help her up. "My tent, then. At least I have a light in there, and space enough to move."

There was a feeling of being invited into enemy territory. She hesitated a moment, then accepted the hand and came to her feet. "Loghain Mac Tir, if you were always this persuasive, then we would never have won at the Landsmeet"

He held the tent flap open for her to precede him. "Madam, if you were always this easy to persuade to see sense, then the Landsmeet would never have been necessary at all."


	3. Chapter 3

Loghain's tent was significantly larger than the others in the encampment, though still a fraction of the size of the tent he had occupied at Ostagar, room within to stand, to turn round, rather than just a cover to keep the rain off while sleeping. She wondered just how he fitted it into the small space in the Feddicks' wagon that they had bargained with the merchants for, to use for carrying heavier goods when they moved from place to place. A bedroll occupied about a third of the space, roughly treated furs unrolled on a mattress of pine boughs that pleasantly scented the air, a small chest doubled as a table with two maps spread out on it. She remembered his surprise when she had given him those - odd that they should share this liking for old maps and charts. For her they had always been magical as a child, the world condensed to a sheet of vellum, a glimpse through the eyes of a soaring bird. She wondered what they had meant to him.

Loghain had turned to the table and adjusted the wick of the small oil lamp there, bathing the tent in a soft glow. He tossed towards her the roll of furs that clearly served him as a pillow with a terse "Here, sit on those", then turned away, rummaging in a bag to produce a horn comb. She flinched at the sight of it. Alistair had combed her hair at night in her tent, it had become a prelude to making love, his gentle touch easing out the tangles and dust of a day's journey.

Loghain was regarding her quizzically and she flushed, telling herself that the bitter erotic images in her mind could not possibly be visible to this other man.

"You might want to take off your shirt." His voice held a little humour in it, clearly he had seen her blush.

"My shirt?" There was a quiver in her voice

He gestured impatiently with the comb. "If you have never had short hair, then you perhaps wouldn't know that a haircut leaves little bits of hair everywhere. You will still be shaking them out of your shirt a week from now if you leave it on. You have got an undergarment to preserve your modesty, I assume?"

_Damn him, damn him, damn him. This is a purely practical exercise. There is no person in this camp who has not seen me in a breastband when we strip to wash at a pond in a hurry on the road, and that includes him. I am not going to blush like a naughty child who Nan has just caught stealing raspberries from the kitchen garden._

She unbuttoned the heavy linen shirt she wore, noting mechanically that there was yet another tear in the sleeve that would need to be mended in the morning, folded it carefully and put it aside. Loghain had taken a sewing kit from the same bag and extracted a small pair of shears from it. He put them beside the comb on the chest, then offered her back the dagger he had taken from her. "Daggers are fine for cutting hair if you have nothing else to use. Save that perfect edge for a darkspawn throat, Warden."

"What did you use on your own hair?"

"My razor. Easier than shears when you cannot see what you're doing, just pull the hair up and slice." His words were wry. "Of course if you really make a mess of the job, you then have the option just to shave the whole lot and start again. But the weather is a little cold for that."

"Am I allowed to have second thoughts about this?"

"No. I did say that was the hazard when cutting your own hair and unable to see what you were doing. If I had left you to your own devices with this dagger, it might have been a very real prospect."

She accepted the blade, setting it aside with her discarded shirt, then began to fumble with the cord binding up her hair with fingers that seemed cold and clumsy, unwilling to obey the commands of her brain. He stopped her, laying a hand on her bare shoulder, warm and strangely comforting. "This is my tent. Outside these walls, the decisions are yours still, unless you choose to give them up. In here, I make the decisions. If you don't want that, simply stand up and leave, I won't stop you. If you choose to stay, then just sit, and for once let the choices be someone else's."

Someone else to make the decisions, even for a night, was a luxury she had not had since Ostagar. She let her hands drop, quiescent, into her lap. With her eyes half closed, she could feel Loghain unbinding her hair, letting the pale tangles fall almost to her waist, then tugging the horn comb through them. He was not gentle, but it didn't hurt, she could feel his hand at her nape taking the tugs of the comb before they reached her scalp.

"Who had long hair, that you used to comb for them?" she asked?

"Anora, as a child. Hers curled as much as yours does. That is the main reason she wears it as tight braids, now she is grown. She hated her nurse trying to comb it, and used to run to me to do it."

He paused and traced the line of a recent scar with his finger, that started at her collar bone and sliced obliquely down her right arm "And that is a scar that you thoroughly deserved. Attacking an armored man frontally from his strong side, and neglecting to keep your own guard up, while wearing only leathers. If you had been a fraction slower on your feet, I would have ended the duel with that one stroke."

"I know." Her own hand drifted up to touch the scar. "The only reason I escaped a three hour lecture from Wynne about it later, was that she wasn't actually speaking to me at the time because I had let you live."

Amazingly he chuckled, a rough sound, as though his throat was unaccustomed to laughter. Probably it was. "So I was of service to you already? I would imagine it takes rather a lot to keep that mage from giving her opinion to all and sundry, whether asked or unasked"

He ran the comb once more through her hair, satisfying himself that the knots were gone, then picked up the shears. A couple of snips, and she watched a long waving tress of fair hair slip down her shoulder and fall to the floor, followed by another. He saw the direction of her gaze and tilted her chin up. "Don't look down at it. It isn't important. Not any more"

Odd words, but she took his advice, staring instead across the tent at the closed flap while he worked. Shadows crossed the firelight that shone under the flap - Shale, making a check of the camp, judging by the heavy footfalls. Wolf was barking in the distance - not darkspawn, that was more excitement than warning. He'd probably found another rabbit.

"Did you know that I once talked to your father, about the possibility of marrying you, when you reached a suitable age?" Loghain spoke by her left shoulder, tilting her head with one hand while he trimmed around her ear. Just as well - if he hadn't been holding her still, she would probably have jumped a foot in the air and lost part of said ear.

"No, I didn't know". _And no, Maker, I am not blushing again. Please, please don't let Father have told him..._

"I had been very uncertain about asking him. Politically, the match was excellent, a union of the two great teyrnirs. Your brother and his wife already had a son, there would be no issues about inheritance, but a close political binding through marriage would have been a force to reckon with in the Landsmeet. And already there were questions about my daughter's ability to bear a child - if we had had children, they would have had a strong claim to the throne if Cailan and Anora remained childless. Little as Eamon would have liked the idea. But I had doubts."

He was suddenly in front of her, regarding her with a slight frown, making another tiny snip near her ear and then moving to the right side of her head. "My doubts were personal, not political. I was far older than you, married before, with a grown daughter. You were young, intelligent, lovely, with a bevy of suitors snapping at your heels like eager mabari puppies. I doubted very much that your father would agree to it, or indeed that you would consider it even if he did - it was well known that your father had already stated he would not compel you to a match when you were old enough, if the match was not to your liking. When I said that to Bryce, he seemed very amused. He said that given your fascination with the stories of Maric's rebellion, and the pictures on the walls of your room, he very much doubted you would disagree when the time came to ask you."

_Father told him..._

Suddenly the tent was very close with the flap closed, the oil lamp giving a lot of heat in the confined space. Of course that had to be the only reason why she felt hot.

He trimmed the remaining hair around her nape, then took the comb again and ran it through her clipped locks. "There, it's done." He turned away to put the comb and scissors in the bag.

Cautiously, she put a hand up to touch her head. He had cropped her hair to roughly two inches long, the remaining curls made about a turn and a half around her finger. Her head felt strange, light, without the weight of the hair. "How bad does it look?" She deliberately made her voice almost teasing, not quite a request for reassurance.

"Fishing for compliments?" His voice was amused. "Most people would say it suited you, madam. But see for yourself" He had his shaving mirror in his hand as he turned back to her. She took the mirror and studied it carefully. Her face looked boyish with the halo of short curls, her eyes huge and dark in the dim light - for the first time she actually saw the resemblance to her brother, which everyone had commented on when she was young. _Fergus..._ suddenly there were tears in her eyes, and she was furiously blinking them away.

"Muirnara?" Loghain sounded surprised. "Do you hate it that much? It is only hair, it grows back. If we live to see past the Blight, then you can let it grow to your waist again. It is not a mutilation"

"It's not that." Angrily she rubbed the tears from her face. "I was thinking about my brother. He wore his hair like this when we were both children."

Loghain took the mirror away from her and set it on the table. When he turned back to her, she was already on her feet. He started to reach a hand towards her, then stopped. "Win or lose this war, Warden," his voice emphasised her title, "the world will not be the same. The empty spaces at the table will mock with their gaps, holding the ghosts of those who should have sat there. All that we can do, is conduct ourselves in such a manner that we do not dishonour those who have not lived to see it end. And many would say that I was the last man alive with the right to say any of that to you."

She caught her breath at that. He nodded at her surprise. "Many would blame me for everything that led us here. I did not know of Howe's intentions towards your family, but that did not stop me still using Howe as a tool for my hand when I needed him, despite what he had done. I allowed Tevinter slavers into Denerim's alienage, in the knowledge that we had not the money to fight the war I saw coming, nor the means to evacuate or defend the Alienage if the war came to Denerim's gates. A hard choice, and an unjustifiable one, at a time when there was no good choice. And then Ostagar..."

"West Hill, " she said. He stared at her.

"You saw the parallel?"

"Yes. The promise that Maric exacted from you, never again to leave men to die, for the sake of one man. I know why you made that choice, not to commit men to a battle already lost, when we were far too late with the beacon."

"I did not expect you to understand that." She had indeed surprised him. "I have made mistakes, more than my lot, some of them monumental. All I hope for is that the chance to redeem at least some of them is given to me before I die. And if you can make an end to this, Warden, I will follow you. I swear it."

_I am not going to start crying again. I will not. I will not._

She was shaking again, almost uncontrollably. He took hold of her shoulders and eased her down to sit on the edge of the bedroll, dropping her discarded shirt over her shoulders. "Stay there, you're shivering. I will clear this up and go and rebuild the fire outside, before we get some well meaning interruption from the Antivan elf or the Orlesian bard wondering where you are or why the fire has died." She watched him pick up the shorn hair from the floor and push his way out of the tent.

When he returned, he came back to sit beside her on the bedroll. She tensed, but he did nothing. He studied her for a moment, then reached out and stroked her cropped hair with a gentle hand, an oddly impersonal caress. No words, just a warm hand smoothing her short curls back from her face, down the back of her head, running lightly over the nape of her neck, over and over again, as he might have soothed a frightened horse or a Mabari that had come to lay its head beside him, seeking comfort. There came a point where she relaxed with a sigh, moving slightly towards him, and he guided her head onto his shoulder, gathering her into the crook of his arm. She closed her eyes.

"You have been alone too long," he said quietly, still stroking her hair. "Not alone physically, you have friends here. But how long since there was someone else who took any of the burdens from you? Who was not looking to you constantly to make the next hard decision, plan the next strategy, work out the new battle plan?"

"Ostagar." She whispered the single word answer, her eyes still closed.

He nodded. "Too long. It isn't a good thing. All my worst mistakes were made when I believed the weight of a nation was on my shoulders, and my shoulders alone. With less reason than you for believing myself alone. Tonight, you are not alone. And the decisions are not yours to make." She tensed, his hand soothed her again. "Tonight you are safe."

Safety. A word that she had not heard for a long time, nor dared to even think about.

"Sleep here tonight. Just sleep. There are only a few hours left to dawn, I have no plans to try to go back to the nightmare I woke from this morning, and I have some writing to do, so the bed is free. I sit by the door, nothing will come in here without coming through me first."

He had moved away from her as he spoke. She looked for a second as though she was about to bolt, then with a sigh she drew her legs up and curled onto her side. He dropped another fur over her, and sat down beside the chest, drawing some papers and a pen from his bag.

"And tomorrow," he added, glancing over at her, "I will see you down at the sparring ground near the river, and I will teach you the counter for the blow that nearly killed you. You will not be relying on reflexes and luck if you end up in that position again."

She nodded silently and closed her eyes again. The scratching of his quill pen blended into the crackle of the fire outside, the bed smelt of pine, and a little of smoke from the curing process they used on wolf furs, and also elusively of something else. While still trying to identify it, she drifted off to sleep. And mercifully, that night, no dreams came.


	4. Chapter 4

Even half awake, she was aware the light was wrong. Her tent faced east, the morning sun should be paler and brighter than this. What was crossing her closed eyes was the softer, warmer light of midmorning

_Daylight. I should have been up hours ago_

The thought brought her out of the sleeping furs and sitting upright, with that sense of confusion of place that always comes from sleeping in a strange bed. It took her a few seconds to realise where she was. For some reason Alistair had always come to her tent, not the other way around, not by any conscious decision, it was just the way things had been. She wondered now if it had been her attempt to force some sort of stability on her own life when everything else in the world had been so desperately unstable.

Normally in the mornings she was the first one awake, to build the new fire from last night's embers, start the breakfast kettle and bring fresh water from whatever stream they had found to camp near. So many of her nights were broken anyway, with the screams of a crazed dragon-god echoing through her dreams, that there was little incentive to try for an extra hour of sleep, better to be up and moving and to allow the daybreak chores to impose at least a veneer of normality over the top of the night terrors. But today she had slept at least two hours past the time she would generally have left her tent.

She pushed the furs away and stood up, buttoning her shirt. She could hear snatches of a conversation outside the tent without being able to make out any of the words, only the voices - Oghren, Zevran, a rumble that had to be Shale, and then, surprisingly, a bark of laughter that could only be Loghain. Oh well, she was going to have to face the comments sooner or later, about her changed appearence and a night spent in Loghain's tent. Never mind that nothing had actually happened, Oghren would be able to come up with three filthy jokes if she'd slept the night in a Chantry in front of the statue of Andraste, with the Revered Mother reading the Chant of Light over her. And Zevran would probably manage a fourth. Ducking under the half open tent flap, she pushed her way outside.

The camp was significantly more orderly than she remembered it from last night. A number of people's belongings that tended to live in semi permanent piles around the fireplace had gone. A fresh kettle of water had been put on the fire and was reaching boiling point, another one nestled in the warmth beside the firepit and held oat porridge, not yet fully cooked. She glanced over to Morrigan's hearth, some way from the rest, the Witch of the Wilds was bent over her own kettle and surprisingly seemed to be talking to Shale, with Sten listening to the pair of them. No sign of Wynne or Leliana, but Wynne had mentioned the day before that she was running short of elfroot and other materials for poultices, and Leliana generally joined Wynne on herb foraging trips, what Wynne rejected for medical supplies often ended up in the Orlesian bard's poisons. Both had known there was no plan to move the camp that day so it was not surprising they had chosen to take an early start and find as much as they could while still camped in a forested area that would yield adequate supplies. They generally returned by breakfast time so that Wynne could then spend the rest of the day making up her potions and poultices.

Wolf bounded up joyfully to present her with the muddy remains of a half chewed rabbit, stumpy tail wagging furiously. "Well, at least you didn't leave it in Morrigan's pack this time," she murmured, squatting down and scratching behind the dog's ears. "Good boy. Go finish your breakfast somewhere where it won't upset anyone?" The Mabari bounced off and she straightened up slowly. Loghain was nowhere to be seen, but Sten was now moving towards the river path and the two of them had been sparring partners in almost all the practice sessions since he had joined the party - Sten claiming that Loghain was the nearest he had had to a decent workout since he had come to Fereldan. So it was a fair bet where Loghain would currently be found.

Zevran was in the process of making tea and indicated towards her with the canister of dried leaves. "Some tea for you as well, cara mia?" His eyes took in her hair and his mouth quirked into a half smile. "Very pretty. Reminds me of this girl I knew once in Antiva, with short curls, and an innocent smile, and the best pair of-"

"Give it a rest, Zevran" She passed her mug to him after tipping out the cold remnants of her abandoned drink from the night before.

"Always so fast to think the worst of me, Warden. I was only about to comment about her beautiful eyes."

"Of course you were, Zevran." She glanced at the dwarf who was also watching her. "Oh, get on and say it, Oghren. You're going to anyway."

"Wasn't about to say a word, Warden. That long streak of stone dust you dragged in after the Landsmeet already warned us both. Said that if either of us came out with something rude about the hair when you came out this morning, then he'd see that my beard and the elf's balls were the next casualties. When someone tells me that and has a sodding great sword pointing at me, I tend to take the threat seriously." Oghren was managing a close to deadpan expression, but Zevran was chuckling openly.

"He said what?" She took her tea mug with a word of thanks and stirred the porridge kettle.

"I think he was probably joking, bellissima. But how one would tell when the line is delivered by someone with a face like that, is a little beyond me. And like our noble dwarf here, I prefer not to test the theory. He also made it clear that you had done nothing in his tent but sleep, and that teasing along those lines would incur a similar penalty. I told him that we were all well aware of that since the noise that used to come from your tent in the small hours of the morning regularly roused the whole camp from slumber and that clearly you were not the kind of woman who lies back in stoical silence - ouch!" The rest of the sentence was cut off as one of Muirnara's leather gauntlets which had been drying beside the fire after oiling the night before collided with Zevran's cheek. He threw a hand up to deflect the second gauntlet that followed it, still laughing. "Peace, peace, cara mia. No, I didn't say that."

"He didn't say that, Warden, but Shale did." Oghren was also laughing. "Said that you used to be noisier in the tent than a flock of pigeons on a morning when the grain got put out. Wouldn't bother throwing anything at that golem though, Warden, it'd just bounce."

Muirnara sat down by the fireplace, and buried her head in her hands. "It's a conspiracy. And you're all in on it. Does that mean I can consider putting either of you on night duty with him and not wonder if you're going to sink a knife in his ribs?"

"Wouldn't have done it anyway, Warden. Way to blunt a good knife."

"Our good dwarf has a point. Anyway, the man is a former employer, and despite all the stories you may have heard, we of the Crows do not generally assassinate our former employers. Not without either considerable provocation, or a substantial fee, neither of which appear to be forthcoming at present. And since the person who would most like to buy such a contract is currently to be married to the target's daughter, the likelihood of a fee being negotiated from that quarter is small in the extreme. Also, since I failed in the contract which he bought, assassinating him after that would seem like adding insult to injury. He has accepted my apologies for my professional failure, and my inability to return his money, so the matter rests there as far as I am concerned."

"I just do not believe I heard you say that." Muirnara drank her mug of tea in a series of scalding gulps. The oblique reference to Alistair had also hurt less than she had expected, like prodding a wound and finding a dull ache rather than the sharp stab of open flesh. _Damn you, Loghain. You were right that I was tormenting myself. Doesn't mean I entirely know how to stop yet._

She looked at the sleeve of her shirt. No good mending that before sparring, in all probability she'd only rip it again. "Right then, people, down by the river in five minutes. Zev, you're with me. Oghren, you'll go a round with Sten when he finishes with Loghain, since Leliana isn't here . Last one there has to scour the breakfast pots later."

"I still say this whole system is sodding unfair, Warden. Means the mages never get to do any washing up in the mornings." Oghren's grumbles were a common part of their morning ritual but he was already reaching for the heavy wooden practice blade he sparred with.

"Well," Muirnara pointed out. "Leliana gets out of it this morning too since she isn't here. Morrigan cooks her own food so she can't exactly be asked to add cleaning the main pots to her camp chores. And if I remember rightly, Wynne had to clean the pot after the evening when you made that stew you said was an old Orzammar recipe..."

Zevran was collecting the wooden practice daggers and short blades. He smirked at Oghren. "Ah, but Warden, he never said what it was a recipe for. Now if that was a recipe for what they use to mend stonemasonry, a lot of things about it suddenly make sense. Both about the colour and the texture. And the adhesive properties."

"You topsiders just don't appreciate decent food. Though it probaby would have been better with less lichen. And having to use rabbit in it instead of nug...my old mother would have wept."

Muirnara laughed softly as she rummaged in her tent for her own wooden practice blades, tried on two helmets with a frown, and then, discarding both, jogged down towards the river, the gentle bickering of the other two still in her ears. There had always been laughter in this camp before the Landsmeet, sometimes black humour - in fact, more often than not black humour - but laughter none the less. After the Landsmeet there had been none - her companions stepping cautiously around her open grief, and even more cautiously around the silent figure who had pitched his tent and then obeyed her orders with no more than a terse nod. Not that she had ever given him many orders - as far as she remembered, her sole instructions to him had been given to him the night he arrived and had been "Keep your head down, keep your mouth shut, do your share of the chores, kill any Darkspawn we come across and for the sake of Andraste do not do or say anything to one of the others that causes them to try to take your life, it's cost me enough to save your life already." Then she had stormed away, dry eyed and white faced to her own tent and her own guilt.

As she came out of the trees to the flattened bare area of ground by the river bank that they had designated as a sparring area she paused, watching the two combatants already at their bout. Loghain was a tall man, but anyone would be dwarfed by the seven foot Sten. Alistair had been Sten's sparring partner before the Landsmeet and had looked even smaller. Like Loghain, Alistair had wielded longsword and shield which always appeared flimsy in comparison to the huge two handed blade the Qunari used. Loghain had on the first day carefully made his own wooden practice blade as an exact copy of the longsword she had assigned him from her stores. He had also been the one who had suggested that the practice blades needed to be kept oiled heavily to increase their weight to something approaching metal. It would never have occurred to her to do that, Highever had always used blunted metal swords for training anyway, but since Ostagar their group resources had always been so slender that spare weapons taken from darkspawn and bandits were sold at the first opportunity.

She crouched down and massaged her calf muscles, then ran through a series of stretches, still watching the other pair, analysing their differences in style. Sten was the larger, and stronger, and considerably younger than Loghain - at least she assumed he was. She had never actually asked Sten his age. _And he probably wouldn't have told me even if I had asked,_ her mind added to that. Loghain always stripped to the waist for practice, commenting he saw no good reason to mend his shirts any more often than he had to. He was lean, almost gaunt to her eyes, muscles corded with long training, scars of various kinds crossing one another, every shade from the angry red of a slash received only two days before, which had only been grudgingly healed by Wynne after Muirnara had spoken sternly to her, to the faded white lines of battle wounds received before she was born. Sten when fighting moved with all the deliberation of an immovable force of nature, every step appearing to root him again to the rock below his feet, the impression he gave was that no attack could possibly unbalance him. Loghain, however moved with the grace of a dancer, light on his feet, the way he wielded the practice blade made it seem weightless though she knew exactly how heavy it actually was. And she knew from the Landsmeet how lethally fast the man was in battle, even in full armour.

Neither of them had yet made a touch on the other, they broke off after a battery of heavy swings, circled and then closed in on each other again. Loghain ducked under a round swing from Sten's blade that looked like it would have fractured his skull had it connected (some of the early practice injuries incurred by Alistair had resulted in Muirnara imposing a rule that helms were always to be worn for sparring, even if one of their mages was present), then he leapt forward and struck down with a force that the Qunari barely parried. They remained with the blades forced down and locked for a minute then parted and nodded to each other. Sten called something that Loghain seemed to nod agreement with, then Sten turned to the river bank and scooped up some cold water to wash his face with and Loghain strode over to where she was waiting, just as Oghren and Zevran came out of the trees.

"Were you planning to spar with Zevran again, Warden?"

"I had planned to."

"Not this morning. Let Zevran and Oghren pair each other this time. You are with me. Where is your helmet?"

"I'll explain afterwards"

"Oh, this should be good," Zevran quipped, but he and Oghren backed off to the far side of the clearing, starting their own warmup exercises. Loghain pointed to the spot where he and Sten had been, and with a dry mouth she took up her practice blades and moved to the indicated position.

_I haven't faced him with a blade in my hand since the Landsmeet. And then he had no idea how I fought, or what my weaknesses are. Unfortunately now, I think he has a very clear idea of both._


	5. Chapter 5

Loghain and Muirnara circled each other, slowly, carefully, each with eyes not on the blade carried by the other, but on the other's eyes. The weaponsmaster at Highever had taught Muirnara that long ago. "Eyes signal intent," he had said, usually while offering her a hand to get up from the floor of the training ground where he had just dumped her, yet again. "Often the only warning you will get of what the bloody bastard intends. Don't ignore it. Use it." Her mother had complained bitterly of her bad language every time she came back from a training session. Her father had only laughed. "Pup, as long as he's teaching you the weapons skills as well as the oaths, then all's well. Just don't come out with them at one of your mother's salons again, or your mother will have my hide."

Loghain initiated the exchange of blows with a relatively slow, predictable pattern, gradually picking up the pace. Longsword crossed longsword, shield blocked, dagger parried, formalised movements in a dance taught in training yards throughout Fereldan, ground into the bone of anyone who had been in arms training. He dropped a couple of steps back as if withdrawing, Muirnara refused the feint and also backed away, the step forward would have lured her onto very uneven ground. His eyebrows lifted. "Clever. How about this?" A sudden surge forward, weight thrown behind the shield, her parry caused her to stagger an instant and then she span away with the impetus of the blow, turning the angle of the bout to back him towards the river.

"Not fast enough, Loghain, " she taunted, pressing him now, so that he gave a little ground, the wry amusement still unchanged on his face. "Sten already tired you out this morning?"

"Well, madam, some of us did sleep last night. And some of us didn't. And you must make some allowances for my aging bones." As he spoke, he abruptly picked up the pace again, blows coming fast enough now to press her strongly, and she was forced to yield a step, then another. She attempted to change the direction in which he was backing her, he immediately pressed her harder and she fell back again, realising now that she had been circled almost to the point she had originally moved him to.

"You sly bastard," she grunted. "But how about this?" A second later her dagger and sword had changed hands, and, lefthanded, she struck his sword just above the hilt with a backhand spin that Ser Gilmore had spent weeks attempting to work out a counter for when she had first developed the move. Correctly executed, that move twisted the blade in the opponents hand and frequently disarmed the unwary. Loghain however seemed to have met something similar before, he turned his wrist as she struck to absorb the spinning force, and then countered with a sharp strike towards her right hand, now only holding the flimsy wooden dagger. The force of the blow shattered the short wooden blade, she dropped the useless hilt and tossed her sword back into her right hand.

"Foolish, madam. Unless you are certain your opponent does not have the reach of you. Or is inexperienced enough not to spot the move." He had slowed a little, allowing her to recover her balance. Zevran whistled sharply from the other side of the clearing, without looking at him she threw up her left hand and the hilt of another wooden dagger smacked into her palm, a throwing move they had both practiced many times - and that had saved both of them many times in combat. That did get an approving nod from Loghain. "Excellent." He immediately stepped up the pace again, blows, parries and ripostes in a flurry that defied the eye. Then suddenly he fell back again, she pressed him, he turned slightly, threw his shield up, and then swung back hard overarm in a cross body stroke, her dagger hand was too slow to parry and the blow sent her sprawling into the dirt, gasping for breath, a long red welt over collarbone and upper arm.

"And that, madam, was the stroke that nearly killed you at the Landsmeet and for the same reason." Loghain did not even seem out of breath. "If you are determined to fight with two weapons and force your dagger to do your shield's work, then you may never, never, lower your left hand guard to improve your speed or force of thrust on a right hand attack. Never."

"All right, you've made your point." She struggled to a sitting position and prodded her collarbone gently - it seemed still to be intact. The bruise was likely to be there for a while though, unless she could convince either Wynne or Morrigan to heal it, and that wasn't likely.

_Since I myself was the one who said, long ago, that we were not going to have healing for training injuries unless they were going to affect the ability to fight that day. And quoted the old line of the Highever armsmaster that the more bruises you took on the training field, the more likely you were to remember the lesson. Me and my big mouth._

He offered her a hand to pull her to her feet. "Be grateful I didn't put full strength behind the strike, since you aren't wearing a helm."

"I'm truly grateful."

"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Warden." He picked up her two practice blades and examined them. "Are these exact copies of your normal weapons?"

"Yes, they are." Muirnara was surreptitiously rubbing her upper arm, and trying to ignore Zevran and Oghren's smirks and mutters from the other side of the clearing. "At least the sword is. The dagger's a spare, it's the same length as the one I use but the balance is different."

"If you're going to continue with this style, then you need a dagger that is roughly a half hand longer than this. Maybe even a hand. You are tall, but on an opponent my height the lack of reach will always tell, sooner or later. Do you have a blade in your stores that will serve, and will that affect your ability to backstab in combat?"

"Yes to the first, no to the second." She thought for a minute. "There is a silverite dagger there, that's a companion to the normal dagger I carry. Almost a shortsword. We took them out of the Deep Roads, both on the body of a Legion of the Dead dwarf we found. I offered both back to his commander, but he wouldn't take them - apparently their belief is that a weapon taken from the body of a warrior slain in combat will fight twice as hard for its new master in gratitude for being given the second chance. I've never used it though."

"Get it out, and make a good copy of it today. Then tomorrow morning we'll work through this again."

_Oh wonderful. Not even one day to let the bruise heal before I get the next one_

He passed her back the blades and jerked his head towards the path back to camp. "Enough for this morning. The porridge should be fit to eat by now."

As Zevran and Oghren joined them, both still smirking, she tossed Zevran his spare practice dagger back. "First smart comment from either of you, and I feed you to the darkspawn."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Warden."

She led the way back up the path. Ignoring their laughing and mutters, which hadn't stopped.

Breakfast was indeed ready when they got back to the fire, but there was still no sign of either Wynne or Leliana. They served themselves from the porridge kettle, ladling the hot oatmeal into wooden bowls. Wolf appeared beside Muirnara to whine for a share, making it clear by his whimpers and wriggling that one muddy rabbit really wasn't an adequate breakfast for a Mabari. Muirnara pushed an oatmeal bowl at him with the warning "Let it cool first." He looked at her, then at the bowl, whined again and settled down to study it, licking the rim of the bowl in a hopeful fashion.

"I wonder where our lovely mage and bard have got to this morning?" Zevran mused, spooning honey onto his porridge. "These herb gathering trips...who knows what thoughts may arise when in one another's company, with no distractions, on a pleasant autumn morning where one's pleasanter activities have little chance of interruption."

"I would consider it far more likely that they are both taking a well deserved break from your constant innuendo." Morrigan was standing on the outside of the main hearth, sorting through the sack that held her own herbalism supplies. "Muirnara, you really must stop feeding that wretched hound of your with the double baked mabari crunch as titbits - they are meant to be for healing purposes only! I thought we had at least two bags of them left, and I can only find half a bag here."

Wolf whined pathetically.

"Yes, you mangy mutt. I do mean you. It is small wonder that you are putting on weight."

Another pathetic whine.

"Eat your porridge, boy." Muirnara told him. "We will make you more biscuits, don't worry."

Morrigan threw her hands up and stalked off to her own fire. Muirnara scraped out her own bowl and put it down. "Right. Laundry this morning, and clothing repairs. Armor and weapon repairs this afternoon. Everything stowed ready to travel, in the Feddicks's wagon before supper, except for tents and bedrolls, we're making an early start tomorrow morning. If Wynne and Leliana aren't back before lunch, Shale and Wolf will go find them, but I doubt it will be necessary. Clear?"

The general grumbles seemed to be tempered with overall good humour as she went to collect her own laundry and carried it off towards the river. Having a clear bottomed river with large stones for pounding stains out of linen was a luxury they rarely had, and laundry was often the job put off as long as possible in the hopes that the next campsite would be better. Again, Alistair had always been the worst for that. She paused, then deliberately summoned the memory of a disgusted Wynne pulling one of Alistair's filthy socks out of her pack, Alistair's denial, and Wynne's exasperated response "It has your name on it!" This did not seem to hurt as much as it might have done a few days ago.

_If I met him again face to face, I doubt I would manage very well. But the Landsmeet no longer seems able to poison my memories. My mother always told me that a wound never heals while you keep picking at it, that was what I was doing by trying to second guess my choices over and over again. I could get to hate Loghain if he is invariably right about things. But then I thought I hated him anyway. Now I don't know what I feel. Maybe that's for the best._

She hauled a pair of cloth breeches from her laundry sack, dunked them in the river and then started to scrub them with a rough stone and a slab of caustic soap made in their fire ashes. A little downstream she could see Sten engaged in the same task. Loghain arrived about a half hour later, dumped a sack of clothing and began sorting through it. She glanced across at him as she took several clean wet garments to spread over the bushes to dry. He seemed to have reverted to his earlier silence, working mechanically through the task with the efficiency of a soldier who has had to spend a lifetime caring for his own kit. Had he ever really thought of himself as a nobleman, with servants to take over these small jobs? Or had he always remained the independent Ferelden farmer in his mind - just with the responsibility for a farm that now spanned the entire country? She knew it wasn't something she was ever likely to ask.

"So why did you spar this morning without a helmet, Warden?" Loghain did not look up at her, but her hand again drifted to her shoulder, where the purpling of the new bruise was clearly visible at the neckline of her shirt.

She draped the last of her shirts over a blackthorn bush and sat down on a flat stone beside them. "I should have anticipated the problem. Without the hair twisted up at the back of my neck, the helmet I was using no longer fits me. I couldn't find anything to pad it comfortably. I had one other helm in our stores which almost fits, but..." She paused. "Well, I can show you." She lifted the helm from the bottom of her laundry sack and passed it to him. "We found this in the village where Shale came from. It didn't fit any of us, but Wynne said the enchantments on it are excellent, and Bodahn Feddick warned us that he couldn't possibly give us anything like what it would be worth to a good armorsmith in Denerim, so I was holding on to it, planning to take it to Master Wade before the Landsmeet. And then," she shrugged, "a lot of things happened while we were in Denerim, and it got overlooked."

He took the helmet from her hands and inspected it. It was grey iron, and of a pattern that had not been used much in Ferelden since many years before the occupation, open faced with only a nose guard, a pair of wings of beaten metal either side of the face.

"I remember these helmets. They went out of fashion because unlike the Templar bucket helms they were made to the measure of one person and shaped to their head. So as you have found, they are hard to pass on when no longer needed. But you say it almost fits you? From the size of the helm it was made for a woman - or possibly for an elven man."

"The fit is excellent, except at the back of the neck. When my hair was long, I couldn't even get it on. Now, I can, but there is pressure here." She drew a finger down her nape.

"Well, when these were still worn, Warden, the 'helm cut' you see in old paintings was common." He laughed at her grimace. "Hair cut in a bowl around the ears to pad the top of the helm, then shaved to the skin from below the ears to improve the fit at the back of the head. I take it that solution does not appeal to you"

She winced. "Leave me the last few shreds of my vanity please."

He looked over the helm again, then held it up and studied the line of Muirnara's head. "If the pressure is really only at the nape of your neck, then if you could bring yourself to crop that last inch of hair close, it would probably fit without...more extreme measures. You would not really look any different to how you do now, unless someone was staring at the nape of your neck, and how many people are likely to do that?"

"Zevran"

He gave an unexpected laugh at that. "And do you plan to arrange the rest of your life solely based on what that lecherous elf may be thinking or doing?"

"Damn you, Loghain Mac Tir. How can I ever get a decent argument if you keep talking sense?"

"Madam, if a quarter of what the Chantry teaches us is correct, then I am thoroughly damned already by my own actions, you need not wish any more damnation on me."

Muirnara sighed, and drew the silverite dagger from her wrist sheath. "Just as well this still has the edge on it from last night. Since I am not going to save the perfect edge for a darkspawn throat, if I have to use its sister blade instead from now on, you might as well do this now." A grimace that became a more genuine smile. "And no, I am not taking the shirt off. I'm going to wash it anyway as soon as one of my other shirts is dry."

He accepted the dagger, tested the edge, and then motioned her to sit on a nearby broken branch. "This will only take a minute, it really is just that last inch, no more."

She felt the dagger pass over her neck with a whisper as the hair was stripped away, and then suddenly she froze, her head up. The thunderstorm smell of magic was suddenly all around, and that unmistakeable sound of an arrow being nocked into the string of a longbow.

"Loghain Mac Tir!" The voice was that of Wynne, full of anger and a little fear. She was standing on the far side of the clearing, a twisting ball of ice in the palm of each hand. And beside her, Leliana stood, her bowstring drawn back to her cheek, and the black feathered arrow trained unerringly on Loghain's throat.


	6. Chapter 6

"Leliana, stand down!" Muirnara's voice was a whipcrack across the sudden silence of the clearing, even the birdsong seemed to have ceased. Her choice of the red haired bard as the greater threat was instinctual. Wynne had always been their group's main healer, and while a reasonable battlemage when pressed, generally chose to freeze her targets or send them to sleep as an initial move. But Leliana was a killer. With the longbow she was carrying, which they had taken from the body of Marjolaine, Leliana's dead lover, Muirnara had watched her put an arrow through the eye of a hurlock that was grappling with Morrigan at a distance of seventy five paces. The arrow had passed by Morrigan's throat with less than half a hand's grace. It had never occurred to either Leliana or Muirnara that she might miss - or indeed might shoot Morrigan. The bow was an extension of the Orlesian girl's body, just as her two daggers were. If Leliana loosed at Loghain, then he would be dead.

Leliana, with the instant combat obedience to the voice of the woman who had been her commander for over a year, lowered the bow to point the arrow at the dust in front of her, then eased the bowstring. Her eyes were taking in the scene - Muirnara's newly cut hair, the dagger in Loghain's hand instantly recognisible as the one that the Warden had carried ever since Orzammar. Her mouth quirked in a one sided smile. "Wynne, cherie, I think we might have been a little mistaken about what is happening here."

The two balls of frost spinning in Wynne's palms flickered and winked out. She lowered her hands, but her voice was still angry and confused. "So just what, Loghain Mac Tir, do you think you are doing?"

Loghain looked Wynne up and down with a colourless expression on his face that just failed to be a sneer. He did not answer her immediately but turned back to Muirnara, made a few more careful passes of the dagger blade down the back of her neck, then handed her the dagger and dusted his hands off. "As you can see perfectly well, Senior Enchanter," his flat tones made the use of Wynne's Circle title only a hair's breadth off a veiled insult, "I am currently acting as your Warden's barber. For the second time in two days, and at her request on both occasions. Or did you think that I was so incensed by the prospect of having to do my own laundry," a sweeping gesture at the clothes drying on the bushes, "that I chose this moment to launch a murderous attack on her with her own dagger? For pity's sake, madam, use your eyes and your brains."

Wynne clearly was not going to let that pass. " I thought you'd be more likely to attack her in her sleep actually. Isn't that what you do? Strike when your quarry cannot defend themselves?"

Loghain gave a weary sigh. "A cheap point, madam, but I supposed you were bound to say it, or something like it. In which case, since she slept most of last night in my tent - and I do indeed mean slept, not anything else you might wish to leap to conclusions about - I surely missed an exceptional opportunity in your eyes."

Wynne's mouth became a thin line at that. "I do not trust you, Loghain."

"And that is indeed abundantly clear, madam. Try to keep this at least in your mind. I have become a Grey Warden. I have made promises. If I break them, my life is forfeit."

"Frankly that does not give me much reassurance, given just what you could possibly do before such retribution caught up with you."

Loghain shrugged. "That's not something I can change, madam."

Wynne shook her head. "I will remain wary of you, Loghain, for a very very long time to come." With that, she dismissed him from the conversation and addressed Muirnara directly. She seemed to think that the easiest way to deal with the whole situation - and him - was to ignore it completely. "Warden, " she told Muirnara in formal tones, "we have brought back adequate supplies of most things for poultices and salves. I would appreciate the help of Shale this afternoon to grind ingredients, and I would also like to purchase some more distilling and concentrating agents from the Feddicks. I am aware that our money reserves are low, but the quality of the poultices will be very poor without them."

"You can have both Shale and what money we have. Look in the bottom of the food sack, there is about five gold there, and some mixed silver. See what sort of deal you can get out of the Feddicks for that. We'll have to try selling some of that broken armour as well, when we reach a village large enough to have a blacksmith needing scrap metal."

Wyne nodded abruptly and stalked off up the path leading to the camp, trailing injured dignity behind her like a dark cloak. Leliana watched her leave, appearing a little amused, then slung her bow over her shoulder and walked over to Muirnara, openly appraising her appearence. "The hair suits you, cherie. Short, simple, a little messy. It brings out your eyes." She touched Muirnara lightly on the cheekbone. "Not like the elaborate hairstyles we wore in Orlais. They involved flowers, ribbons, jewels... One year, feathers were all the rage, and Lady Elise decided she needed to outdo everyone else, and actually wore live songbirds in her voluminous hair. The chirping was quite charming for a while, but you must realize, terrified little birdies often have loose bowels."

"Ugh!" Muirnara pulled a face. "That was an image I could really have done without."

Loghain was listening to this somewhere between amusement and irritation. "So, if you are now convinced that my intent was not to cut your Warden's throat, madam, does this mean a temporary cessation of hostilities? Or should I still be keeping one eye out for an arrow at a later time?"

Leliana regarded him coolly. "Consider it an armed truce. For now." Then she turned away and followed Wynne back up to the camp.

"Well, as the first round of peace talks, I've heard worse." Loghain watched the Orlesian girl leave, then gestured to the helmet. "Try that now, Warden, and see if the pressure is gone."

Muirnara nodded and picked up the helm, easing it over her head with an involuntary shudder as the cold iron slipped like unmelting ice over newly clipped nape and bare neck. She tried a shake of the head. "That fits well now. My thanks, Loghain."

"You are welcome, Warden." She had noticed before that he never dealt with thanks well, generally giving a gruff acknowledgement and retreating. This was no exception, he had turned away and was laying out the remainer of his clean laundry on the bushes. She lifted the helm off and tucked it back into her sack. He seemed to have something else on his mind as he folded up his own empty laundry bag. "Warden, if your resources are so poor that you are relying on the sale of broken armour to village smiths to keep your party stocked with healing poultices, why did you not ask the Crown to advance you some money and supplies before leaving Denerim?"

She sighed. "Grey Wardens are in an odd position in Ferelden as you know, Loghain. The order's history here is such, that when Wardens were actually permitted back into the country by Maric, there was great caution about even accepting the usual tithes. By asking for supplies from the Crown it could be implied by some that we were offering allegiance to the throne of Ferelden, which is impossible. Grey Wardens exist only to combat the darkspawn. Our only allegiance is to our brothers and sisters in the Order, and our ultimate allegiance to the First Warden in Weisshaupt - and even his authority is severely limited." Riordan had told her much of this and she had found it interesting. She quoted the older Warden's words. "In time of Blight, and in the Thaw that immediately follows Blight, the authority within the Wardens of a Blighted nation lies with the Commander of the Grey within that nation. He may delegate some of that authority to others, but the ultimate command is his, and any Warden entering that land during Blight or Thaw is under his command, regardless of comparative seniority of service."

"Interesting." Loghain ran a hand over his head, considering what he had heard. "So in a nation which has only three Wardens, none of them more than two years from their Joining, and one visiting Warden only newly arrived, who is the Commander of the Grey?"

"It should have been Alistair, he was senior to me by around six months. But he made it so abundantly clear that he did not want to be asked to lead anything...even said once that 'bad things happen when I lead' - and now of course he is saying that he is no longer a Grey Warden either. So I would guess," she added with grim humour, "that you are currently talking to the Commander of the Grey in Ferelden. Until the First Warden relieves me of said title, and Riordan seemed to think that during a Blight he doesn't actually have the authority to do that, even if by some miracle he could get a messenger across the borders to do so. So until then, Ferelden is stuck with me. And the Maker help her."

There seemed little that could be said to that. They continued with their tasks in silence.

Supper that night was a classic version of Ferelden Grey Stew - the remnants of everything that they needed to use up before moving the camp again, thrown into a pot over the fire. It was not as bad as some earlier versions of the same dish, since it at least had fresh wild garlic and other herbs in it that Wynne and Leliana had found, and Zevran had shot a rather scrawny rabbit that afternoon to add to it, but it was still a meal to be eaten as fast as possible and forgotten faster. Wynne, having glowered in silence at Loghain throughout the meal had withdrawn early to pack the newly made poultices and salves. Leliana had tuned her lute after supper and was sitting on the tail board of the Feddicks' wagon, playing a succession of Orzammar drinking songs, with Oghren attempting to teach the choruses to anyone who would listen. Muirnara had watched them for a while and then collected the tattered map of Ferelden which had followed her up and down the country, spreading it out near the fire and weighting the corners with rocks. Loghain came to study it over her shoulder.

"We're missing something." She laid a finger on the map. "I know that all the scout reports have suggested the attack is most likely to come at Redcliffe, and with two of the four parts of our army already on Lake Calenhad, it was the obvious place to muster. The dwarves won't leave Orzammar until the last minute in case we have this wretchedly wrong and the first attack comes out of the Deep Roads into the city. I fully expect the Dalish to be late, so many of them were ill, and when I spoke to their Keeper they were still only half equipped. Redcliffe makes sense, it's slightly west of central, better than Denerim if we have to get troops to Orzammar in a hurry. But still..." her voice trailed off.

"You're seeing the same problem I am," he said quietly.

She nodded. "We are making far too many assumptions. We are judging the darkspawn plans entirely by what is going on at the surface, while we know most of their movements are below the surface. The Legion of the Dead are watching the Deep Roads as best they can, but there are not enough of them - they can tell us if the main horde move, but not where they will come out."

"There was little else we could do, Warden, we have too few troops to risk splitting them. And I can see another major problem. " He laid a finger on the Imperial Highway, drawing a line south into the Korcari Wilds. "Where is the one place we know of where there have already been major Darkspawn incursions from below the surface, where we have no scouts stationed, and where so much land is already Blighted that we have all but abandoned it?"

She went pale. "Ostagar. Oh, we are idiots! How on earth, in all those strategy discussions with everyone at Denerim, did nobody spot that?" She slammed her hand down on the map. "Just what were we thinking of over the last months?"

Loghain answered her in a tired voice. "Warden, you were raising an army. I was trying to put down a civil war. And I suspect that both of us were trying to forget Ostagar - we both lost too much there."

The snort that followed that comment was Wynne again, returning to the fire. Loghain glanced at her. "Oh get on with it, madam. Have your say. Perhaps when you've thrown everything at me that you want to say, you might stop scowling for a while."

"Oh, did I need your permission? I see." The bitterness in Wynne's voice had not changed. "I find it somewhat hard listening to you talking about your losses - remember I was at Ostagar. I witnessed Cailan's murder."

Loghain raised his eyebrows. "Did you try to save him, then? My apologies."

Wynne appeared shocked by this "I was fortunate to escape with my life!"

Muirnara was half considering intervening in the argument, then with a sigh she sat back to watch. Wynne was channelling no magic. Loghain had no blade in his hand - perhaps better just to let them fight it out here, rather than in a more lethal duel later.

Loghain's tone was sarcastic. "So you didn't rush to your king's rescue? I see. Then both of us left the boy to die."

Wynne was getting more and more furious. " I was no general at the head of an army! I could never have reached him!"

Loghain nodded. "You were no general. And I had no magic that could break those darkspawn ranks. But perhaps you think I ought to have tried, regardless. No doubt, the lives of mere soldiers are cheap in the eyes of the Circle."

Wynne narrowed her eyes, and her tone was biting. " And what of all the soldiers who died with their king? Their lives were worth nothing to you."

This finally seemed to provoke Loghain into a rage. He came to his feet and took a pace towards her. Muirnara laid a hand on his wrist, he looked at the hand, then at Muirnara, then shook it off but went no closer to Wynne. There was ice in his tone. "You think so, do you? I knew their names, mage, and where they came from. I knew their families. I do not know how you mages determine the value of things, but they were my men. I know exactly how much I lost that day. "

Wynne for a second appeared thoughtful rather than angry, but she turned away without a word and disappeared into her tent. Loghain was breathing hard as if he had been running, but when he turned back to Muirnara his face was calm. "It sounds, Warden, as though we are in agreement."

She nodded. "I'll tell the others. When we reach the Imperial Highway, we turn south. To Ostagar."


	7. Interlude - Late Watch I

It had been clear all evening that Muirnara knew Zevran all too well. The elf had studied her hair with the pose of nonchalent indifference that meant that his mind was all too busy, had paid her a carefully polite compliment and then carried on his camp chores as normal. Muirnara was not fooled. After supper, she discussed the new guard roster, issued Loghain with Zevran as a partner and gave them the predawn watch. Loghain had slept poorly again, and it came as a relief when the elf's low voice called him out of the tent, and out of another nightmare. On emerging from the tent, all was quiet.

"Start with a perimeter sweep?" Loghain's question just failed to be an order, but Zevran nodded amicably, and the two of them moved into the darkness of the trees.

Zevran was the first to break the silence as they walked. "So, my friend, if I may call you such. You and our lovely Warden. Am I indeed to assume that you did not...?"

"We did not." Loghain's tone was not encouraging.

Zevran shook his head. "You Fereldens, you are all the same. You pay more attention to your Mabari hounds than to your ladies. A perfect situation falls into your lap, and you studiously ignore it. Alistair was just the same. I was advising him for weeks and he was pretending not to listen. And going a remarkable shade of red at the same time."

Loghain snorted at that. "Do not even consider comparing me to that Theirin whelp, elf."

"Oh, no comparison was implied or intended, my friend. I am merely pointing out that after the length of time that the fair Warden spent with that puppy of a Templar, that to have a man in her bed that she was not attempting to educate at the same time that she herself was learning about her own pleasures would surely be more than welcome."

Loghain raised an eyebrow at that. "I suppose I should be grateful for that, at least."

"My friend, in Antiva we have a great appreciation for good horses, as you have for your hounds. But it is understood by all those whose task it is to gentle and train young horses, that to assign a novice rider to a green-broken mount is to court disaster - it is not that it can never work, it is that the odds fall heavily in favour of the eventual outcome being at best completely unsatisfactory to both parties, and at worse, both distressing and painful for all concerned. Surely then the sensible thing is that the novice rider should be assigned a well bred mare of experience, quality and training so that his own performance may improve, and the unbroken filly should be placed in the hands of an experienced rider so that he may teach her without causing her confusion and distress by his rough and inexpert handling."

Loghain was startled into a short laugh. "I presume that you did not include this in your list of pieces of advice given to Alistair?"

Zevran's smirk was invisible in the darkness, but clear in his voice. "What would have been the point? A man who was unable to even discuss the basic mechanics without turning every shade of a sunset sky, and bolting into the nearest trees, was hardly likely to listen to any other suggestions."

Loghain shrugged and they continued to walk. "I do not entirely believe that I am having this conversation with you."

Zevran sighed. "What I am trying to say to you, my friend, is that you do not see what is in front of your nose. The Warden joins you in your tent, she sits or kneels at your feet..." the tone was enquiring.

"She sat." Loghain's voice was not encouraging.

Zevran took no notice of this. "She trusts you to take shears to her hair - my friend Loghain, for a woman that is an act of trust indeed. And do not give me any arguments about the practicalities of short hair, had the Warden not trusted you, she would have hacked her hair off herself with her dagger blade, and perhaps permitted our lovely Leliana to tidy it later. Practicalities had little to do with it. She sat at your feet wearing only her breastband, telling you in every way that she could that she placed her trust in you completely. You apparently took no notice at all of what she was trying to say. And then later, when you took the dagger blade to her neck, yes, yes, I know exactly the excuse you will give for that, about the fitting of her helm. My friend, you are blind, deaf, and stupid. Or merely an uneducated Ferelden. But I preferred to assume that Alistair was not representative of an entire country."

The rumble in Loghain's voice could be smothered amusement or anger, or even a little of both. "So what, in your professional opinion, elf, should I have done better?"

"My friend, you should have looked at what was in front of you, when you had finished with that dagger blade. A woman's nape, bare, soft and inviting. The courtesans of Antiva frequently either wear their hair upswept if long or indeed clip it short, not only to better display the jewels in their lovely ears but because they well understand that the neck is one of the greatest of the weapons they have to display. Newly shorn, the skin is most sensitive, kisses there produce a delightful frisson, running fingertips or indeed lips, tongue and teeth over the area is likely to delight the recipient of such caresses. Most of the positions for lovemaking that involve penetration from behind can be greatly enhanced by such kisses or indeed bites on the neck, carefully placed and with good judgement about timing while observing her responses. Furthermore..."

Loghain held up a hand. "Fascinating, Zevran." The tone was sardonic. "Now what were the terms of the bet?"

"Bet?" There was far too much innocence in the voice.

He snorted. "Come on, elf, you may well consider me blind, deaf, stupid or all three. But I know when baited hooks are dangled in front of me. The bet was with that dwarf, was it not? And whose money was staked on getting me to blush before the end of the conversation?"

"Got it in one." Oghren was seated by the camp fire as the circuit brought them back to the tents. "And Zevran has lost ten silvers, since I reckoned we had never seen you yet blushing. Didn't think the elf's advice was not likely to change this."

"I'll pay you tomorrow." Zevran turned back to Loghain. "Very well, my friend, I accept defeat. Perhaps though, you should think on what I have said to you? The fact that a bet was involved does not mean that the advice was poor."

Loghain shrugged. "I will take it into consideration. Should the need arise, which I do not expect it to." His voice was sardonic. "Now, unless you have further advice for me, we have over three hours of this watch to finish, and should perhaps keep walking."

"Of course." As they disappeared within the trees, Oghren could hear Zevran's voice getting fainter. "Now also in Antiva, it is not at all unusual for a woman to completely shave all bodily hair below the neck, this has the following advantages..."

Oghren smirked and muttered to himself. "Elf still reckons he'll get five silver back with a blush before they get back here again. I reckon he just doesn't know when he's beaten."


	8. Interlude - Late Watch II

"So that's ten silver for not getting the blush on the first circuit."

A nod. Zevran was clearly sulking.

"And five silver for not getting the blush on the second circuit."

Nod.

"And another ten for not getting the blush by the end of the watch."

Nod.

Oghren grinned. "Oh, cheer up, elf. I'm sure you gave it your best shot."

"I tried talking about -everything-, my hairy friend. All the things we discussed, and a few that I invented on the spur of the moment. The man is simply not human. Alistair would have exploded when we got to the bit about the blindfold."

"So what did Loghain do?"

"Raised an eyebrow."

"And the bit about the candle wax?"

"Raised two eyebrows."

"Hmm." Oghren was clearly deep in thought. "How about the ice cubes?"

Zevran sighed. "Said he didn't keep a primal mage in his back pocket, and doubted Morrigan would oblige."

"Point." The dwarf thought again. "And the olive oil?"

"Said that olive trees only grow in Orlais."

"So what do they use here instead?"

"Melted butter apparently."

"Ugh." Oghren pulled a face. "Totally the wrong sodding image. Did you try telling him about the chicken feathers?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"He didn't stop laughing for five minutes."

"Tough customer." The dwarf took a pull from his bottle. "Seriously sodding tough customer. You mean you didn't even get a reaction when you got to the bit about the handcuffs?"

Zevran pulled a face. "Said Fort Drakon was full of them, but he didn't fancy a trip back to Denerim to borrow them."

"Guess that rules out the floggers too."

"Indeed."

"Well, you tried. Want some of this?" He offered the bottle.

"No, my dwarven friend. I intend to head for my own tent with what remains of my self respect. Alistair clearly is not representative of Ferelden men in general." He pulled back the tent flap. "I suppose for our lovely Warden's sake, I should be grateful that they are not all like Alistair."

As he vanished, Oghren raised his bottle and toasted the shadows.

"Loghain Mac Tir, I sodding salute you. Stone face, and stone balls to match, and you've won me twenty five silver." He thought about it for a minute. "But for the bloody Warden's sake, I hope you were taking some notes."


	9. Chapter 9

The last time Muirnara had passed down this road was in the late summer, over a year ago. Then, the fields had been yellow with ripe grain, apple trees laden so heavily with fruit that their branches bowed down to the warm soil, Ferelden readying itself to bring in a good harvest, and she had seen none of it, blinded by her own grief. Duncan had forced the pace to Ostagar for fear of Howe's assassins behind them once it was known that she had not died within the castle, making for a gruelling journey that she had been too heartsick to care about. He had told her endless stories as they walked, about older Blights, about the Tevinter Imperium, about the Orlesian occupation, anything he could think of to cut through her numb misery. She would have welcomed death if it had come to her on that road. Little of his words remained with her now, other than one conversation, held over the campfire a day from the old fortress itself. "The Tevinter Imperium built Ostagar long ago to prevent the Wilders from invading the northern lowlands." he had told her. "It's fitting we make our stand here, even if we face a different foe within that forest. The king's forces have clashed with the darkspawn several times, but here is where the bulk of the horde will show itself. There are only a few Grey Wardens within Ferelden at the moment, but all of us are here. This Blight must be stopped here and now. If it spreads to the north, Ferelden will fall."

And now she was returning, over a year later, and Duncan would have grieved to see the truth of his words. Fields that glowed gold last year were now a filthy black, and strange things seemed to writhe in them when glimpsed out of the corner of the eye, but could not be seen by a direct gaze. Burned out houses dotted the blackened fields here and there, as did broken, bare trees. And everywhere was cold, and rapidly getting colder. The sun seemed dimmed, as though the taint clouded the air itself. Not long after they had started on the southward road, it had started sleeting, and gave no hint of letting up.

As soon as she had realised what they were heading into, Muirnara had split the group. Sten, Shale, Oghren, Morrigan and Zevran had been sent back with the Feddicks to make a new camp, near some of the still inhabited settlements northwest of where Lothering had once been, with orders to get rid of everything that they could sell to villagers and restock the stores. Some of the villages even had Chanters Boards still so it was possible the five of them might manage to make a little money as well. Leliana, Muirnara, Loghain and Wynne, bearing a minimum of baggage, and accompanied by Wolf who had refused to be left behind, had set off southwards on the old Imperial Highway. They had brought with them all that could be carried of the party's warm clothing and bedding, but it was questionable whether it was going to be adequate.

"It should not yet be this cold." Wynne was all but invisible under a heavy cloak fashioned of rough cured wolf skins. "We are barely into autumn, the first frosts should be more than two months away yet."

Leliana shrugged. "The sun can barely see down to the ground here. I doubt very much that the seasons have touched this land since Ostagar fell."

Muirnara nodded. "The taint is everywhere - land, water, air." She had felt it growing stronger ever since they turned south, a crawling on the skin like burrs in a shirt, not the directional pull of living darkspawn but something far more nebulous. Judging from Loghain's grim expression he was sensing something very similar. "We cannot use groundwater for drinking here, which means we will have to conserve our stocks with great care. Unless?" She looked enquiringly at Wynne.

Wynne sighed. "I have some means of purifying rainwater or snow, yes, but the spells are draining on mana, and lengthy to perform. If we have no alternative then I can do it."

"Understood. We have water enough for five days at need without that, if we use it for nothing but cooking or drinking, and carefully rationed at that. It has taken us almost two days to get to Ostagar from the last untainted lands, it will take us two days to get back. That gives us three days to deal with what we find there. If of course," she added, "what we find there does not send us running north as fast as our legs will take us, to warn Queen Anora and Arl Eamon that our armies are in completely the wrong place and an Archdemon led horde is coming up from the south, and heading for the road to Denerim."

Wolf, who would normally have scouted in circles around the group, had stuck close to Muirnara's legs for most of the day, alternating between unhappy growls and disgusted sneezes, as if trying to clear his nose of the all-pervading reek of rot, with little success. They had not stopped to eat at midday, none of them had had any appetite. Also they had calculated that if they took no breaks they would reach Ostagar by late afternoon and hopefully be able to find somewhere in the ruins to camp before darkness fell. If indeed there was ever any change of day and night in these lands, the hopeless grey half light had not altered all day.

The pass that led into the old fortress was surprisingly unchanged, other than the drifts of snow - sleet had become snow not long after lunch time, tapering off as they entered Ostagar itself. The snow appeared surprisingly white against the darkened land. The air seemed even colder than before, but the very cold seemed to reduce the sickening smell - Ostagar smelled of almost nothing.

Muirnara glanced once at Wynne, the mage had thrown back the hood of her cloak and was looking around her with a set expression, as though translating in her mind the pictured memories of how this place had once been, into the snow-laden painting that was now before them. Loghain had taken two paces ahead of them and then suddenly his sword was in his hand "Darkspawn!" The word was hissed through his teeth. Wynne and Leliana dropped back, one readying bow, the other staff, Wolf had shot forward and was worrying at the throat of the first hurlock, Loghain moving in on the second. She had closed the distance in a few seconds, her dagger in the back of Loghain's target. The remainder of the spawn, another hurlock and a genlock emissary were swiftly dispatched and they stood, breathing hard.

"Too few." Loghain was cleaning his sword on the snow drifted up against the wall. "Far too few. Where in the Maker's name are they all? I expected this place to be crawling."

Muirnara stood, letting her senses reach out for the expected tugging...which was not there. "I can feel no others anywhere remotely near - this isn't right."

"Perhaps they also did not expect anyone else to be here?" Leliana was carefully retrieving her unbroken arrows. "I cannot imagine that anyone has set foot here since the battle, they know our forces are withdrawn to the north."

"The problem is," Muirnara commented, "that while we as Grey Wardens can sense the Darkspawn, they can also sense us. Loghain and I should be standing out to them like hill beacons at midnight. Every spawn in less than a mile should already been converging on this spot. And they just...aren't. It's like there are none here at all, and I simply cannot believe that."

"In the mean time, we're losing the light. What light there is." Loghain was studying the surroundings intently as though seeking for darkspawn that somehow were evading the senses. "We need to get tents up and sort out a guard roster. Unless you had plans to try to look into the Tower of Ishal in the dark - and I would not recommend it."

"No, certainly not. Tomorrow morning will do for that." Muirnara also looked around. "Our best spot for a camp site will probably be up where the old Mabari pens were, the Ash Warriors got the least ruined part of the buildings. At least there we can pitch tents with a solid wall behind them - more secure and warmer. Though I can't imagine," she added, looking around herself with a shiver, "that this is going to be a warm night for anyone."

"Do we risk a fire?" Wynne asked, leaning heavily on her staff Now the immediately adrenaline rush of the battle was gone, Muirnara noticed that Wynne was looking drawn and tired, even her normal dagger glances at Loghain had been absent for a while now.

"I can't see that it is actually going to make anything worse. As I said, Loghain and I will draw them if they are anywhere near, the fire won't make it any more or less likely that they find us. A fire might even be some defence - not much admittedly, but better than being beset in the dark." She walked a few paces away from the darkspawn corpses to retrieve her pack, dropped on the floor when the attack had started. "We had better scout about and see what timber there still is here, though it's all going to be either soaking wet or frozen."

A hurried search of the immediate area produced some broken barrels and crates, and the smashed remains of the Mabari pens themselves, heavier timber which would burn for a good while if they ever managed to persuade the fire to light at all. They struggled for a while before a tired Wynne finally gave in and cast a spell that set the roughly constructed firepit ablaze. A pot was slung over the fire with a small amount of water in it, and while it boiled, Muirnara and Leliana set up the two small tents that they had brought. Wynne's exhaustion was now even more apparent and Muirnara had set her to watch the kettle with strict instructions to do so from a sitting position on top of one of the packs, and not to stand up again for anything short of a full blown darkspawn assault.

"There's something even stranger," Muirnara said quietly to Loghain once the tents were up. "What do you feel about the surrounding land here?"

He glanced at her. "I know what you mean, but I wondered if it was because the Taint in my blood was so new, that my perceptions were less sensitive. But you feel it too?"

"Yes. The land within Ostagar's surrounding walls is untainted. There is no taint on the fallen snow here, nor in the soil. As soon as you probe outside the walls, the land is befouled again. None of this makes any sense at all."

They accepted the mugs of hot tea that Leliana passed to them, cupping their hands around the mugs to thaw out numbed fingers. Loghain managed the ghost of a smile. "At least it eases one of our immediate problems, Warden. If the snow here is untainted, we can boil and filter it for drinking and washing, and we can save what is in the water bottles for the return journey."

"True." Muirnara glanced at Wynne. "If we are going to watch two and two tonight, then I suggest that Wynne is the one who gets a night's sleep. She looks completely exhausted. I should have noticed earlier, we could have slackened the pace a little."

Loghain glanced across the fire to where Wynne was hunched over her own steaming tea cup. "I agree. Does each pair need to be one Warden and one not?"

"It probably should be, but it may be an unnecessary precaution. You know that the few times that the spawn ever came close to the other camp, we both woke, it was impossible to sleep when that tugging came into the mind. And here, at least," she added, "we know that anything that attacks us will be tainted. I cannot believe there is anything for miles but Darkspawn and blight beasts."

"Better not to make assumptions, Warden - although it is rarely wrong to assume that men are generally more foolish and more greedy than they should be, and if some greedy fools have tracked us here in the hopes of loot either from us or from anything left behind in the fortress, then we will not be caught sleeping." He looked at her. "Do you plan to pair me with the Orlesian bard, or the dog?"

"Have you a preference?"

He raised his eyebrows. "It had probably better be the hound. Less of a chance that we end up in some argument and completely ignore the Darkspawn approach."

Muirnara seemed mildly amused by this. "In which case I had definitely better not pair you with Wynne for tomorrow night."

He snorted. "Probably a wise decision, Warden."

Muirnara stared away from their fire into the gathering darkness. "So what do we know? We know that Darkspawn do come into Ostagar because we have killed the four that were here when we arrived. We know that they do not come in here in any numbers, or the taint would be everywhere, and it is not. We know that at this moment, there are no Darkspawn within a mile of these ruins, or we would have felt them, they would have felt us, and they would have been on their way here already. What we do not know is why."

"We know one other thing, Warden." Loghain's voice was sombre. "We know that nothing keeps Darkspawn away from a place once they are set on entering. No magic, no wards, no barriers. The only thing that would keep them out of Ostagar is fear. " He looked at Muirnara, and if his glacial blue eyes could be said to hold any emotion at all, then that emotion might have been a dawning horror. "So we are left with yet another question. What is there that is so terrible, that even the Darkspawn fear it?"

"I have no answer." Muirnara looked away from him and out towards the darkness which now enshrouded all but the small circle of firelight.

"Nor have I."


	10. Chapter 10

The night passed wretchedly slowly. Muirnara had volunteered to take the first watch, and from his furs within the tiny tent Loghain could see her pacing, pacing, like a caged cat, spinning round every time the wind sprang up as though utterly mistrustful now of her own senses. More than once Leliana spoke quietly to her, and she would laugh, and relax a little, but less than five minutes later she would be yet again stalking an invisible enemy. Wolf, who had chosen to lie by the fire outside the tents, although offered a fur within, appeared not to be sleeping either, his eyes were on his mistress and occasionally he would let out a soft whine, head cocked to one side as though attempting to understand her behaviour.

When Loghain finally climbed out of the tent, unable to stand watching her any longer, the Mabari sprang to his heels with an air of relief. He paused to add another half dried lump of timber to the fire, then moved across to Muirnara. "Warden, it makes no sense at all for me to lie awake in that tent. Go and sleep. Wolf and I will take the extra couple of hours onto our watch."

She rubbed the back of her gauntlet across her eyes. "I cannot shake this feeling that we are being watched. There is nobody else here, there are no Darkspawn close. Leliana is sensing nothing, which is just as well, if she was as jumpy as I am, she would probably have shot me in the back by now."

"Go and sleep," he repeated, giving her a gentle push in the direction of the tent he had come out of. "I piled both sets of furs and blankets together, they will still be warm if you don't waste time arguing with me."

She looked for a moment as if she was about to indeed argue, then with a sigh she nodded and turned away. Leliana had already climbed into the small tent that she was sharing with Wynne, and had curled up behind the old mage, throwing a protective arm around her. A thought crossed Muirnara's mind as she found her own way into Loghain's discarded bed furs - that perhaps Zevran had not been entirely wrong, and that there was more to the relationship between the mage and the bard than she had assumed. There was love in that protecting arm - maybe not how Zevran would have liked to imagine the two of them - but love none the less.

_It wouldn't have been the first time that Zevran saw more clearly than the rest of us. Damn him._

When they had decided to take only two tents, Wynne's first words had been, "Just as long, child, as you do not expect me to share my sleeping furs with -him-." She had seen Loghain about to open his mouth to voice one of his sarcastic put-downs and Leliana had immediately jumped into the gap. "Wynne, cherie, you mean you even considered the possibility that someone other than myself should share your tent? I am wounded." Then she had dimpled at Loghain. "And I very much doubt that Loghain would have any appreciation for sleeping next to a woman such as myself, he would consider that the scent of Andraste's Grace was simply an attempt to cover up the natural perfume of Orlesian skin. So why should I even consider wasting such an experience on someone unable to appreciate it?" Wynne had laughed, even Loghain had raised an eyebrow and the hint of amusement had been seen fighting to get through his normal stony expression. At the time Muirnara had considered it a clever piece of two-way flirtation to break up yet another argument. Now, she wondered.

The furs were indeed still warm from Loghain's body and she stripped off boots and gloves and pulled them over herself. All of them were sleeping in some form of leather armour, Loghain's caustic comment about the Darkspawn being unlikely to give them time to dress had been taken to heart. It was not exactly comfortable as night attire, and still had to be changed in the morning to mail, or dragonscale, or in Wynne's case, the heavy Tevinter robes which they had taken from a slaver in Denerim's alienage, and which she still complained bitterly about every time she put them on. But it was better than the alternative, and saved changing when on night guard.

She could hear Loghain talking to Wolf, and Wolf whining piteously. She was half curious about the conversation, but now her frozen feet were finally thawing out and sleep was starting to overtake her. She drifted off into a confused dream, standing on the far side of an ice chasm, while a crowned and robed figure stood on the opposite side, beckoning to her. He was speaking but she could not make out what he was saying. She tried to call out to him, but as sometimes happens in a dream, her own voice made no sound. And then the scream of a dragon echoed across the chasm, and she saw it rise out of nowhere, dark wings blotting out the sun, and her own scream joined the dragon's, and she was fumbling for a sword that was not there, and then...

She gasped as something shook her shoulder, forcing her eyes open, and realised that grey daylight was everywhere, and Wolf was pawing at her. Loghain stood behind him. "You were screaming in your sleep, Muirnara. If he hadn't woken you, I would have done."

She sat up with a groan. "What time is it?"

"If I thought the sun was going to rise at all today, then I would have guessed that this was predawn. But since that grey light that we walked through all of yesterday was much like this, it could be an hour or two later. As far as I could tell, there has been nothing moving anywhere in the ruins all night. But I know what you meant about a feeling of being watched."

"I'm glad you don't think it was just my paranoia."

He shook his head. "Every instinct I have tells me that something is here, but the Maker only knows what."

An hour later they were all up, the fire was doused with snow and the tents struck. They left the firepit and the wood store intact in case no better prospect revealed itself for a camp that night. Leliana stood and looked over towards the Tower of Ishal. "Is that where we are going today?"

"Yes, but we are going to do it last. As I said yesterday I don't know what is going on here. So we are going to search the surface ruins first for any clue to the lack of Darkspawn. Also," she added, "on a purely practical note, anything we can salvage here that is light enough to carry back for sale, we are going to need. Coins, gemstones, magical items. We did not even loot those Darkspawn we found last night, and little as I may like it, our money reserves are low enough that we can't leave them."

She was surprised by the approving look on Loghain's face, unsurprised by the disgust on Wynne's. "Wynne, where was the Magi encampment and where were the stores left there?"

Wynne, after a night's sleep had seemed at breakfast to have recovered her acidic tongue in full measure, but she merely pointed. "That way, down towards the trees."

As Muirnara led the way towards the snow covered wreckage that Wynne had indicated, she was unsurprised to hear Wynne and Loghain arguing again. She did not catch Wynne's first barbed comment, spoken in a low voice, but Loghain's reply was distinct. "Let me know when you're done glaring at me, madam. My memories of this place are no fonder than your own."

Wynne seemed irritated by this. "No? I remember good friends dying in this place. And a man whom I respected as my king."

She heard Loghain's snort of disgust at that. "All I remember is a fool's death and a hard choice. I'd make the same again."

Wynne's own disgust was clear in her voice. "Even knowing all that you know now, Loghain Mac Tir?"

Loghain sounded weary. "Even so. Come, madam, our bitterness is better spent against the darkspawn than each other."

Wynne as always was unable to resist having the last word. "Yes, Maker forbid that I might waste a whole life's bitterness just on you." Then she marched forwards to join Muirnara. "Warden, the Tranquil had their camp at that side, if any of their magical supplies have not been looted that is where you would find them. Unless of course," her voice was cool, "you intend to search the frozen corpses of any of your former comrades in arms, who still lie here unburied."

Muirnara paused a moment and stared at Wynne. "All I can say, Wynne, is that, as you very well know, Grey Wardens do what they must. If you cannot stomach that, then I suggest you go and wait for us somewhere where you do not have to watch what we are doing. Do you seriously think that the Darkspawn will have left the bodies untouched? Would you prefer that anything they might still have carried is used by the spawn against us?"

Wynne shook her head. "I fear for you, child, and for what you are becoming. When I met you a year ago, you would not have spoken this way."

"Maybe not." Muirnara turned away. "A year ago, I knew far less than I do now. They were not lessons I would have chosen to have to learn. But I was not fool enough to ignore them." Then she deliberately ended the conversation, moving a few paces ahead with Wolf at her side.

A search of the Magi encampment produced one chest which had either been overlooked or was too heavy for the Darkspawn to carry away. Loghain smashed the lock and they salvaged the few small items it contained, mostly poor quality rings and amulets but light to carry. Nothing else was visible and they moved towards where Cailan's tent had stood. Here, they had better luck. A cursory search turned up a rusted key, and Loghain was able to indicate roughly where he believed Cailan's chest had been buried before the battle. The chest proved to contain money and some papers, and Muirnara took them out to read them. A quick scan made her eyebrows rise almost into her hairline. She looked up, saw Loghain watching her and passed them to him.

His first words on reading them were filled with white hot anger. "The cheating bastard!"

Wynne appeared shocked. "Watch your mouth, Loghain Mac Tir, unless you have forgotten the company you now keep!"

He seemed well beyond any dry, sarcastic retort, shocked into an fury that made him at once far more human and far more frightening. "It's not my company I worry about, madam, but my former son-in-law's! Do you see the familiar tone with which the empress writes him, as if my daughter were not already his wife?"

Wynne shook her head. "Cailan loved Anora with every ounce of his heart. It was plain for all to see. The only thing that ever stood between them was you."

He rounded on Wynne. "Are you blind, old woman? The plot is plain as day within this letter!" He thrust the letters into her hands "Love or no, Cailan was going to cast my daughter aside and wed himself to that bitch, Celene. In a single vow, Orlais would claim all that they could never win by war! And what would Ferelden gain? Our fool of a king could strut about and call himself an emperor."

Wynne was reading the letter as Loghain shouted at her. Finally she looked up, and her voice was less acidic, if not friendly. "And what of peace? Would it not bring us that, at least?"

Loghain shook his head. "Peace? I would have thought your age might have granted more wisdom, madam. Peace just means fighting someone else's enemies in someone else's war for someone else's reasons." He turned and looked out towards the tainted lands outside Ostagar's walls. He appeared to be calming himself but Muirnara saw his clenched fists.

_He is as near to breaking as I have been, these last weeks. Maybe more so, because even alone in his tent I doubt he would ever permit himself the grace of tears. Anger is his only outlet, and even then he keeps a firm hand on it. I wonder how many years he has lived like this._

She reclaimed the letters from Wynne and folded them, placing them in her own belt pouch. Eleanor Cousland had trained her too well in politics to simply rip them up and throw them away, there might yet come a time when these would be a weapon as sharp as dragonbone in their own arena.

Glancing at Loghain's turned back, she beckoned to Leliana. "Leliana, can you and Wynne go and check the bodies of those four Darkspawn we killed yesterday? They are lying just a little way down the slope from us."

Leliana also glanced at Loghain, then she turned away and beckoned to Wynne and the two women moved away. Muirnara turned back to the chest. Something about the design of it seemed familiar, she had seen chests like this before. Her fingers probed delicately along the lid of the chest, found the catch she was expecting, pressed it, and the false bottom of the chest came open, to reveal a shape swathed in sacking. She lifted it out carefully and unwrapped it, to reveal a sword.

"Loghain," she said quietly. "I think you had better see this."

He turned round to look at the sword and his eyes widened. He reached a hand out as if to touch it and then drew back.

"You know this blade, don't you." She made the words a statement, not a question.

He nodded. "I saw it when Maric first took it up in the Deep Roads." He indicated the runes on the blade. "Those runes flared blue when he wielded it. But why is it here? I was sure that Cailan, with his dreams of glory, would have gone into battle with it in his hand."

She shook her head. "I don't know." She offered him the hilt. "But I think perhaps you were meant to have it."

He shook his head and started to say something, she stopped him. "Whatever happened at Ostagar, you loved King Maric all his life, you told me once you would have led an army into the Fade if he had asked it of you, you never ceased to mourn him. I think that he would have wanted to see it in your hand, now when the land you both loved so well is under a greater threat than it has ever been."

He seemed about to argue, then he reached for the hilt and took it, and as he raised it, they both saw the gold runes on the blade glitter to blue, and Muirnara for a second thought she saw an answering glitter in Loghain's ice blue eyes that could have been trapped tears - then he withdrew the longsword he was carrying from its scabbard and sheathed the new blade, and the moment passed.

"Warden!" It was Wynne's voice, calling from further down the slope, with some distress in her voice. "I think you really need to come and look at this."


	11. Chapter 11

When they reached her, Wynne was bent over the body of one of the darkspawn, the emissary. She pointed to the armour he was wearing, filthy and tarnished but still bearing recognisible heraldry. "Do you recognise that?"

Muirnara nodded. "That is King Cailan's breastplate." She sighed. "So the darkspawn stripped his body on the field. Well, worse was probably done to some of the others."

She saw Wynne trying to unbuckle the breastplate and stopped her. "Leave it. We haven't the space to carry it, we have no means to destroy it. A breastplate is just a breastplate. The death that Cailan died was monstrous, but not one iota of the memory will be changed by trying to salvage his arms."

Wynne looked mutinous, Muirnara held up a hand. "I'm not going to debate this." She shook her head. "If this was some bad Antivan adventure story, we would have come to Ostagar having received a quest from a dying man, under mysterious circumstances, to retrieve the complete fallen arms of a King. Well, this isn't a bad Antivan adventure story, this is Ferelden, and this is a Blight, and we are not going to kill every hurlock in a five mile radius to see if they happen to have any more of the armour, we came here to see if there was any sign of an Archdemon led horde and a disaster coming out of the Deep Roads here unwatched."

Wynne seemed to accept that, she ceased her tugging at the breastplate, stood up and looked out along the bridge. "Something is moving down there, Warden."

"You are right." Muirnara drew her sword and dagger. "Not darkspawn, there's still no taint. But there are plenty of other things in the world as foul as darkspawn." Wolf and Loghain were already on the bridge, moving towards the tower. As she caught up to them it was clear that what was approaching was animated skeletons, they had met similar monsters before in the Redcliffe dungeons and in the ruins in the Brecilian Forest. She signalled to Wynne and the mage released a firestorm that downed several before the hound and warrior got to the rest. As before when they had faced similar opponents the creatures were little trouble to any of them faced one to one, they only became dangerous in large numbers when they could swarm an opponent. The fight was short. As she retrieved her dagger from one of the corpses she realised Loghain was standing looking at something in the middle of the bridge. Leliana had joined him and had a hand to her mouth, seemingly very distressed. Wolf was howling. As Muirnara and Wynne joined them, it was clear why.

A rough wooden structure had been set up in the center of the bridge, made from wood which had once been part of the catapults, lashed together with rough strips of leather, and on it hung King Cailan's naked corpse, transfixed by several darkspawn weapons. Somehow the body was uncorrupted, not frozen by the cold but preserved by some foul magic, pale and perfect apart from the gaping deathwounds, and those inflicted after death to suspend the body from this makeshift gibbet. Wynne was crying, and making little effort to hide it. Leliana was reciting something under her breath, it sounded like verses from the Chant of Light. And Loghain was staring at the face of Cailan as though he had never seen it before, as if memorising the picture before his eyes, his own face as immobile as the dead king's visage.

Imposed over the grievous sight in front of her, she found her eyes seeing not the dead body, but Cailan as she had seen him when they came to Ostagar, young, golden, laughing. He had remembered her from visits to Highever and her few appearances at court when she had accompanied her parents to Denerim, he had immediately seen the distress in her face and had asked about her father. She had tried to tell him, had broken down in tears, and he had held her while Duncan explained about Howe's treachery and the murder of her family. He had listened, and he had promised her justice. And she had wanted to believe him, to believe that Howe would hang, that the teyrnir would be restored to her brother, that they would be able to mourn their parents and his wife and child decently and go on, that the world would not be changed beyond recognition forever. Somehow even in Cailan's arms she had not been able to believe that it could happen. But she had been able to hope, for a little while.

"What are we to do?" Leliana's eyes turned to Muirnara. "We cannot leave him up there."

Loghain was about to say something, and Wynne forestalled him. "I would imagine that Loghain sees no reason to do anything at all. Given his immense practicality." The last word was spat out with venom.

Loghain turned and looked her up and down, his hand on his sword hilt, and for one moment Muirnara thought that he had finally been provoked beyond endurance, and was going to draw on the mage. She was ready to intervene, but when he spoke, his voice was quiet and tired. "The man who would not listen to reason, the man who led half my army to death in the search for glory - that man I would leave here to rot, madam, or I would toss him over the side for the wolves to tear at, as they have torn at the corpses of so many of my soldiers, men and women that lie unburied in this hellmouth that was once the Korcari Wilds." His words were biting. "But the son of the man I called friend all his life, and the son of the woman I owed my life to, more than once - that man I will not leave here."

_The son of a man and woman both of whom you loved more than life itself, however much your mouth refuses to let you speak that word, Loghain._

He climbed to the edge of the stone parapet, testing it with a foot to make sure that it would bear his weight, then yanked at the weapons transfixing the body. One by one they came free, and the body tumbled down to lie limp rather than rigid and frozen as might have been expected at the foot of the wood tower. Loghain lifted Cailan into his arms, gave one last glacial look at Wynne, and then began to retrace his steps across the bridge, back towards where their camp had been, despite his harsh words the body was cradled to his shoulder as gently as though Cailan only slept, and a rough movement might awaken him.

They followed a little distance behind. It took Muirnara a minute to realise that Loghain was not heading for their camp, but for the remains of the great watchfire that she had thought of as Duncan's fire, remembering how often the older Warden had stood beside it at Ostagar. Most of the timber remained, charred and blackened in places, but Loghain clearly thought it was enough for his purposes. He laid Cailan out on the top of the pile, and stepped away. Then his eyes turned to Wynne, and for once there was no anger in the glance, only something that might be considered a plea, and the expression that crossed Wynne's face had no anger, and no bitterness, only understanding. She looked at Muirnara for a second, Muirnara nodded. Wynne raised her staff.

"Draw your last breath, my friend," she said, in a clear voice. "Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky. Rest at the Maker's right hand and be forgiven."

Then she cast her spell, and the pyre and the king were a mass of white flames.

They stood and watched it burn. The heat forced them a few paces back, and the brilliance of the flames seemed a stark contrast to the dull half light, even the snow looked faded and dingy.

And then Leliana began to sing. Muirnara had heard her perform this song once before, at their campfire, many months ago. Then as she listened she realised this song was not the same - the language was elven, the song very similar, but these were not the words she had heard before. She knew almost none of the Elven language, and caught only a couple of the words - 'sorrow' and 'starlight', but the tune alone made it clear that it was a lament, and when she looked at Loghain she could see that he understood far more of it than she had, his face was twisted in pain, and yet the look that he had turned on Leliana was closer to gratitude than grief. The bard's pure soprano was emphasised and echoed by the ruins about them, as though her song was being picked up by other singers and reflected back, in strange harmonics that shivered around the tune.

When she fell silent, none of them spoke for a while. Then Loghain offered his hand to Leliana, she took it, and they looked at each other for a long time without speaking. When they parted she had tears in her eyes and seemed not to want to speak, falling behind the others by a pace or two, Wolf dropping back to her side.

Muirnara finally turned away from the embers of the pyre and began to walk back towards the Tower of Ishal. She heard Wynne and Loghain fall into step behind her, then Leliana and Wolf bringing up the rear. As they crossed the bridge, she heard Loghain's voice for the first time since he had taken Cailan's body down from the gibbet.

"You look as though you want to say something, Wynne. What's stopping you? You've never held your tongue for politeness's sake before."

Wynne's voice for once was thoughtful rather than bitter. "No, it's nothing."

Loghain snorted, but his reply seemed a half hearted attempt at his former sarcasm. "Why should that matter? There have been plenty of occasions in the past when you've had nothing to say and said it anyway. Loudly, in fact."

Wynne heaved a sigh. "Loghain, you're not making this any easier."

He seemed almost amused by that. "My apologies. I should certainly be complaining that you've no vitriol for me."

Wynne paused, and when her reply came it was cautious, and in a softer voice than she would normally use. "I...would rather have something scathing to say to you. But I do not. I...I feel I should admit that I have been mistaken about you."

That appeared to take Loghain aback and his reply did not come for a considerable time "As it is a rather brave thing to admit a mistake, and it was something I was always bad at, I will only say, thank you."

"Yes. Well, it won't happen again." Wynne again had gained the last word, but it appeared Loghain was satisfied, he made no attempt to reply.

As they gained the far side of the bridge, they were assailed by two small groups of skeletons similar to those that had been despatched on the bridge itself. Neither group took long to fell, and the only problem was memory, the memory of those men who had manned the bridge on the night of the Darkspawn assault, archers and those who manned the catapults, mounting a desperate defence of what ultimately could not be defended. Muirnara remembered falling as a burst of arcane fire took out one of the catapults, Alistair had pulled her to her feet and they had run for the tower, knowing that those men were dying behind them. And then one of Teyrn Loghain's men had come to tell them the tower had fallen, and the Darkspawn had come up from under the tower, and with a Circle mage following them, a man whose name they had never learned, they had fought their way up the tower to light the beacon. Praying all the way that they would be in time. Knowing that they would not be.

And now the bones of those men lay in the snow, picked clean by fell beasts, or rotted, or burned. And some of those bones had been dishonoured by the formation of the animated dead now being sent against them. She had heard Leliana's mutterings as they cut their way to the door, and known that they were prayers, for the men who had died here. She wished that she was still able to pray. But for a long time she had been convinced that nobody was listening, and that it was a futile exercise. She would have liked to believe that there was no deity at all - but having passed the Gauntlet and stood before the Sacred Ashes, disbelief was never again going to be an option. She could be angry, she could scream to the heavens, but the option to believe that the gods were the imagination of man had been taken from her forever that day.

They paused at the Tower's door. Wynne cast a ward onto the wood. "It will not stop someone - or something following us through it," she explained grimly, tracing the runes with the glowing tip of her staff. "But if something follows us through we will know about it."

"Sound strategy, madam." Loghain's break from sarcasm seemed to be continuing. "There have been too many unknowns in this place since we arrived. Let us hope that some of the answers are within."

Muirnara pushed open the door. "Loghain, take point. Leliana, take the rear. Wynne, keep light on us as far as you can, I think that anything behind us that did not already know we were here is likely to have seen the pyre. And anything ahead of us will soon know."

They passed into the darkness and the door closed behind them.


	12. Chapter 12

The Tower of Ishal was not as dark as they had initially feared, light filtered into the ground floor from high broken windows in many places, the blackness which had seemed impenetrable when they first passed the door was more a contrast to the whiteness of the snow outside. Here at last some Darkspawn were to be found, scattered genlocks and hurlocks and a couple of shrieks hurling themselves singly and in pairs against Loghain and Muirnara's blades, but the bodies of several more were strewn around.

"Do the Darkspawn fight each other?" Loghain asked Muirnara, pulling his sword out of a genlock's chest with a sickly squelch and wiping the foul ichor on the rags of cloth and leather armour it was dressed in. "Those corpses are recent."

She nodded. "We saw evidence many times in the Deep Roads that they did. It is only when the Archdemon directs them that they seem able to channel all energies towards a single goal."

Leliana was adding more arrows to her quiver from a supply that they had found in a smashed chest. "Whatever disagreements they have had here...well, if it gives us fewer to fight, we can only thank the Maker for small mercies."

"I do not think that the Maker had very much to do with the creation of the Darkspawn," Wynne commented. "If the Chantry have the right of it, then the pride and the arrogance of mankind achieved that without any intervention."

Leliana shook her head. " And so is the Golden City blackened with each step you take in my Hall. Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting. You have brought Sin to Heaven and doom upon all the world." she quoted. "Do you truly believe that, Wynne?"

"I asked you the same question once, Wynne" Muirnara reminded the mage. "Back at Ostagar, when we came here first. You seemed unsure then whether it was fact or metaphor."

Wynne nodded thoughtfully. "The dwarves do not believe it, and living as they do, with the Deep Roads on their doorstep, they probably know more of the nature of the spawn than any other race. But I have never heard a dwarf who had a theory on where the spawn came from, as far as the dwarves are concerned, the spawn simply appeared."

"Perhaps this is not the time for a scholarly discussion?" Loghain's impatience was clear. "We are seeking for the entrance to the tunnels that the spawn attacked the tower from, let us not waste more time here."

Muirnara pointed to a door at the end of the chamber. "Through there, Loghain, and then two doors on. That is how I remember it at least."

They picked their way through the debris to the door. The shattered remnants of furniture were everywhere, as were pieces of broken armour, broken weapons, rubble from fallen masonry. The stair which she and Alistair had used to reach the top of the tower that desperate night was completely blocked, a stray blast of magic had clearly brought down the walls of the stairwell. At least it was clear that no enemy was above them.

The enormous tunnel that the Darkspawn had erupted from was unchanged from how she remembered it. She paused on the edge, the others beside her, her senses reaching out into the tunnels below. "There are no Darkspawn there, but there must be some tainted beasts, there's a nebulous weak pull."

Loghain was easing his way down the rough slope formed by the fallen floor, reaching back to assist Wynne to descend. As Muirnara, Leliana and Wolf scrambled down beside them, Wynne was tracing the runes on the carven walls. "This is not like the Deep Roads. I think these walls are of old Elven construction." Her fingertips swept over the carvings lightly. "Does this not remind you of the ruins in the Brecilian Forest?"

Muirnara examined the walls. "It does." Her attention was caught by something else. "Sadly, that is not the only thing here reminding me of those ruins. Look at those spider webs."

Wynne nodded and raised her staff. "At least this time, Warden, we know how to deal with them. No lesson is ever wasted," Her tone had slipped back into her 'teaching' mode, she had always had a tendency to treat the rest of the party as a group of somewhat unruly apprentice mages, promising in talent but lacking concentration. It had been guaranteed to drive Morrigan into a silent - or not so silent - fury. Wynne's spell sent tongues of flames licking along the webs, they saw the giant burning spiders ahead falling out of cracks in the wall with high pitched creeling sounds that set teeth on edge. Leliana was methodically picking off any that survived the flames, a well placed arrow into the gap in the chitin plates between head and thorax. Loghain was watching with an expression of approval on his face. He caught Muirnara's eye and nodded, then set off down the charred tunnel.

The halls led roughly south, twisted west, turned south again. Mage and bard walked ahead, and the spiders died before them. Loghain looked at Muirnara. "They might as well have left us at home," he said wryly. "For the present, we just appear to be here as the admiring audience for their talents. Although I do not deny there is plenty to admire. Are you not also an archer, Warden?"

"I am. But my skills compared to those of Leliana are very poor. When we fought the High Dragon in the Frostback Mountains, I wielded a longbow, a target the size of a high dragon is a very difficult thing to miss, all you have to do is get the arrows into the soft underbelly." She considered. "You also are supposed to be a good archer, at least if the old stories are true?"

He smiled wryly. "It has been many years since I wielded a crossbow in combat, Warden, the immobility of fighting in heavy plate does not match well with the need for freedom of shoulders and arms for accurate archery. If I had to, I could still take up a bow and acquit myself decently, but not in the league of our bard here."

_He has started to refer to Leliana as "our bard" and not as "the Orlesian bard" - I wonder if he even knows that he is thinking of her differently now?_

He paused. "You say that you slew a dragon in the Frostback mountains?"

"Yes." She indicated her armour. "These scales came from it. It had lived there a long time, there was a village of cultists worshipping it as an incarnation of Andraste."

His face was thoughtful. "Before the Battle of River Dane, there was a dragon in the sky over those mountains, the first time that one had been seen in many years on this side of the Frostbacks. I wonder if it was the same one?"

"For all I know, it could have been. I have no idea how long they live."

"I told the troops at that battle, that if a dragon could rise again, then so could Ferelden. Not the most eloquent speech before battle ever, but they believed, and they won. And now it seems, that dragon has fallen, the dragon that gave its name to this age. So what portent might a commander draw from that, to give his men hope this time?"

Muirnara considered this in silence for a moment. "That an age is ending, and that a new age may yet rise. That while the flight of a dragon strengthened the hearts of men thirty years ago, that the fall of a dragon proves that the strength of a man's arm and heart may still prevail no matter how great the foes we face now."

"You are a romantic, Muirnara." But he was smiling. "But you have a way with words. A time may come when you will be the one to say that, or something like it to the men following you. And they will believe you as they did me. Maker send that they find the heart for victory again."

The air on their faces had changed, there was movement in it, it was colder, and the tunnel had started to slope upwards again. Loghain motioned to Wynne and Leliana to drop behind again. "We do not know what is waiting outside, let us not find out when an arrow passes straight through cloth robes." He paused and surveyed the tunnel. "Warden, the dreams...the Archdemon. Is the size that it appears in dreams accurate?"

Muirnara nodded. "We saw it, down in the Deep Roads. It is the size of a High Dragon."

"Then it cannot come out this way. At least not without many thousands of Darkspawn widening the tunnels. The ceiling is too low, the passage too narrow."

"But should it require the tunnel to be widened, it has many hundreds of thousands of Darkspawn at its command." Wynne added.

"True. So all we know is that it has not come this way yet."

"Or if it did, this is not the tunnel it used." Wynne touched the carvings. "The fact that these are elven as we said and not of Dwarven construction suggests to me that the Darkspawn only used this route into the tower by accident, that there may well be another entrance into the Deep Roads elsewhere, which could account for the unexpectedly large numbers of spawn that assaulted Ostagar from the surface."

Loghain looked surprised at that, and gave the mage an approving nod. "Well reasoned. We will make a strategist of you yet, madam."

Wynne looked uncertain whether to be pleased at the compliment or annoyed. "Well, what do you think we did all day at the Tower? Cast practice spells to explode rocks? We had one of the greatest libraries in Thedas, and less than half of the tomes there were on the theory and practice of magic - if anyone had the inclination for other studies, the opportunities were there."

As they emerged onto the surface, the difference between the land within Ostagar's walls and the land outside it was even more apparent. Here, the taint was deep in the earth, and assailed Muirnara's senses from the instant that she set foot there, a foul, metallic taste in the back of the throat. They moved out cautiously, eyes scanning the empty landscape in all directions. The remains of armoured bodies littered the battlefield, friend and foe alike cloaked in a shroud of unmelted snow. The hummock that appeared centrally towards Ostagar's main gate had to have been an ogre, and unusually large for one of its kind. Muirnara had not intended to look at or loot the bodies here, there was always the fear as with the animated dead they had fought earlier, that something would be recognisible. But as they passed it, the hilts of the two weapons that pierced its chest caught her eye, she broke away from the others to climb the great corpse and drag the weapons free.

Loghain had followed her and as she climbed down again his eyes fell on the sword and dagger. "Fine workmanship - but that is not why you took them, is it, Warden?"

She shook her head, there were tears in her eyes and she made no effort to hide them. "They were Duncan's. I recognised the hilts. So he must have fallen somewhere near here, those weapons would never have left his hand unless he was unable to wield them."

Loghain nodded. "Warden, we cannot search for him, and you know we cannot. To find one man's body on this battlefield amongst so many would be hours of labour that we cannot spare, and would almost certainly end in failure."

"I know." She was holding the two weapons in her normal fighting stance, testing the balance. "Alistair told me that Duncan knew he was dying when he came to Ostagar, he had already started to have the nightmares again that meant the Calling was coming." Riordan had explained to Loghain what this meant, he merely nodded and waited for her to go on. "In a time of peace, he would have made the journey to Orzammar, the Legion of the Dead would have saluted him as he entered the Deep Roads, and he would have found his ending there. In time of Blight, there is no need to go to the Dead Trenches to find your death on a Darkspawn blade."

"Warden, he found his death in the way he would have chosen, and with a valour that many of us will never know." Loghain indicated the ogre. "From where those weapons were placed, that creature met its death at his hands. And I think," he added, indicating the blades, "that he would be glad to know that his blades were in the hands of one of the Wardens he had recruited, and better still in the hands of the daughter of his friend."

An echo of what she had said to Loghain about Maric's blade when they had found it. She nodded, blinking away the tears. Then suddenly, she whirled, scanning to left and right. "Darkspawn. Two groups. At least fifty of them, maybe more. We are not going to get back to the entrance fast enough."

"Backs to the wall!" Loghain's bellow, trained to cut across the clamour of a battlefield brought Wynne and Leliana over to their sides. "We will have to hold them here, and we cannot let them surround us. If there are any archers in the group, get them down first."

They ran back to Ostagar's walls, stumbling over the bodies, to fan out in a small semi circle around Wynne who was readying her spells. Arrows flew towards them, as the Darkspawn closed on them, then stopped abruptly as Leliana's first two arrows took down the hurlocks who had bows in their hands. Muirnara cried out as one of the arrows from the darkspawn archers pierced the leather of her sleeve, lodging the arrowhead deep in the muscle of her upper arm, she waved off Wynne's attempt to help her and snapped the shaft. Then the spawn were upon them, and there was no time for thought.

As if in a nightmare it seemed that the Darkspawn attacking them were unending. As fast as one genlock fell to her blades, another took its place. Leliana had reverted to twin swords for the close quarters fighting and stood shoulder to shoulder with Muirnara. Wynne's healing magic seemed everywhere, a cloud sealing cuts, easing pain, the sorcerous tendrils creeping into muscles close to exhaustion and infusing strength. The only glimpse Muirnara could spare for Loghain showed that he was holding his own, a cut on his face was healing itself as she glanced at it, Wolf at Loghain's shield side had hamstrung an emissary. She let herself believe for a moment that they could win this fight, and then hope died, her senses picking up the approach of still more spawn, probably over a hundred, maybe more. Whatever the power which had blocked their perception of the spawn within Ostagar's walls and which clearly had also stopped the spawn sensing them was no longer a protection, and they were now indeed the hill beacons that she had described.

And then suddenly, the darkspawn were no longer there. She could sense them backing away from her, she could feel something from them that was a mixture of confusion and fear. The new spawn that were streaming in came no closer, she could see now that they were ringed by over a hundred Darkspawn, but none were approaching closer than fifty yards, and drawing further away as she looked.

"What in the name of the Maker is happening?" Loghain's voice came in gasps as he tried to get his breath.

"I do not know." Muirnara's voice was cracked and her throat raw with dust, she tried to swallow. "They are afraid."

"But it is not us that they fear." Leliana sounded not far from terror herself. "Look!"

In the centre of the dark entrance that they had come out from, stood a tall figure, crowned and robed, looking at them. It was clear that he was a Darkspawn, and yet the sensation from him was unlike anything that Muirnara had felt before - just as the taint within a Grey Warden was instantly recognisible and different from the taint within a spawn, so this was different again. And he was not crowned as she had thought at first, both here and in her dream, the crown appeared a part of him, growing out of the bones of a twisted skull then falling in a sweep around the grey face to cover where the eyes would have been - and yet obviously he could see them. It was hard to tell whether the robes were something he wore, or a part of him in a similar fashion. He stood motionless, observing their small group.

And then Wynne cried out, as the darkness of dragon wings swept over their heads.


	13. Chapter 13

Muirnara's eyes were trapped by the dragon's flight, even the throbbing ache of the arrowhead in her arm forgotten. Her lips drew back from her teeth almost in a snarl.

"It is untainted!" Loghain's voice cut across the stillness of the air. "Warden! Do not look at it - feel it! That is not the Archdemon!"

As the dragon circled above them, Muirnara paused, her hand raised in a warning to Wynne and Leliana. Loghain was right. There was no hint of taint in the dark body, this was a high dragon, and not the Archdemon. But how had a high dragon come into the Korcari Wilds, and from where? The Darkspawn were reacting to it strangely, seeming to be even more terrified of it than of the robed figure who stood waiting, and yet moving towards where it was coming in to land with no signs of aggression towards it, more as if drawn there by a strange longing.

Loghain was already looking up and down Ostagar's wall. He indicated a small postern door in the wall, a fair way up. "That is the door that lies not far from the Mabari pens. It was barred on the far side but the bar was heavily cracked. If we get a chance to move, start towards it, I believe we could force that. If of course we are not fighting off a hundred Darkspawn at the same time."

The dragon had backwinged to land on a small ridge, looking down onto the battlefield. A burst of flame had incinerated several spawn who grew too bold and approached, the rest were now retaining a respectful distance. The dragon's head turned towards the group of humans pressed against the wall, Leliana had nocked an arrow into her bow and had it raised. Loghain pressed her arm. "Hold," he whispered. The head turned away again, and another blast of fire dropped twenty darkspawn where they stood. Most of the remainder were already running away.

"What does it want?" Leliana whispered, lowering the bow. "What is it waiting for?"

Muirnara winced as she pointed, lowering her injured arm as fast as she had raised it. "I don't know. But its presence seems to be...expected?"

The dragon had started to walk down to where the single crowned Darkspawn stood, and as it walked, it appeared to blur, and become indistinct, and then suddenly there was no dragon, instead an old, lean woman with white hair was walking in its place. Loghain muttered a curse under his breath. Both Muirnara and Wynne had gone white. Leliana looked from one of them to the other. "Who - or what - is that?"

"The Woman Of Many Years." Loghain's voice made the simple words a curse. "That was what the Dalish elves called her when Maric and I were taken to her over thirty years ago. If she had a name I never knew it. She played with both of us, as a cat does with a mouse. And then she let us go."

"Her name is Flemeth." Muirnara's words were full of pain, not all of it physical, although it seemed that her dagger hand was hanging almost useless by her side. "And she has been dead for nearly four months."

Leliana looked back at Loghain, he was staring at Muirnara. Wynne nodded. "She is the mother - or maybe she isn't - of Morrigan who travels with us. Morrigan became aware of Flemeth's plans for her - some vile form of blood magic of which I was never given the details, that could only be ended by her death. Muirnara, Sten, Wolf and I went to confront her and she denied none of it - that was when you and Zevran were sent off with Alistair to negotiate with the Mages' Collective - Muirnara was certain that Alistair would have refused to allow us to intervene had he known that we were going. Maybe that is true. I don't know. When challenged, she shifted into dragon form and it was in that form we finally defeated her after a long fight and grievous injuries. The carcase of the dragon she was, lies rotting by her hut in the Korcari Wilds. There is no way that she can be here now."

"And yet she is." Muirnara finished.

The single Darkspawn who had seemed to inspire such fear in his fellows was walking forward to meet Flemeth, who had not cast a glance either to left or right since she had shifted back to a human form. She must have been aware of the presence of Muirnara and the others, but she gave no sign of it. As the darkspawn and the Witch of the Wilds came face to face the Darkspawn bowed to her with what appeared to be profound respect, which she acknowledged with a nod of the head. Then he turned his eyeless gaze on Muirnara and Loghain, it was as though the other two and the dog did not exist.

"I regret that you have been harmed." The voice was shocking, not just because it was expected that a Darkspawn would be voiceless other than the few mocking taunts occasionally heard from emissaries during battle, but because of the nature of the voice itself, calm, soft, resonant. "I could restrain my people from entering the ruins themselves, but my control over them is not limitless, and your blood cries out to them."

There was disbelief on Muirnara's face, and profound shock, she seemed unable to reply. Loghain moved a pace forward. "What is it that you want?" His voice seemed harsh by comparison to the inhuman tones of the other.

"For now, there is nothing I want from you." The creature gestured towards the gate which Loghain had spotted earlier. "Things have moved too fast for it to be possible to prevent this turn of the wheel. One of the two of you will live to see the cycle renewed, and then we shall speak. For now - that gate is open. Return to your encampment and do not risk leaving the walls again."

The Darkspawn took Flemeth's hand with an oddly courtly gesture, as a nobleman might have escorted a lady to some formal ball in Denerim in a more peaceful age. As both of them turned to walk back towards the entrance to the tunnels, Flemeth cast a glance at the group by the wall for the first time. Her face was calm, almost mocking, her eyes lingering on Muirnara, who was white and shaking, and seemed to be having trouble standing.

And as they passed out of sight into the dark of the tunnels, Muirnara crumpled to the ground and lay unstirring as if dead.

Loghain was the first to reach her. His eyes did one swift sweep of the area, no Darkspawn were left other than the dead. Then he lifted her limp body into his arms, as he had carried Cailan earlier. "What are you waiting for?" His eyes raked Leliana and Wynne. "Run! Will you wait for the spawn to come back and finish what they have started?"

And run they did, staggering towards the gate in the wall, Loghain bringing up the rear. As they had been told, the gate was open. Wynne struggled to bar it again, while Loghain bore Muirnara to the remains of their camp, laying her down beside the dead firepit. He roared at Leliana to start the fire, and called Wynne over. The mage did a swift examination of the unconscious Warden. "This is not magic." Her eyes fell on the broken arrow shaft still protruding from Muirnara's arm. "I would stake my life that this is poison, and I do not recognise it."

"Get her out of that armour." Loghain was already unbuckling the straps, Leliana came to help him. "Do what you can for her, mage, while we get that Andraste-cursed arrow out of her."

Wynne's lips tightened, but she knelt by Muirnara's head, laying fingers on her eyelids and cheekbones and closing her own eyes. Leliana slit the leather undersleeve of the dragonscale shirt and they managed to lift it off her. Loghain cursorily examined the arrow still embedded. "Barbed. I will have to cut for the head. Who has the sharpest dagger?"

Leliana offered him a small stiletto, he tested the edge and nodded approval. "Hold her shoulders down. If she comes round, do not let her move." He worked the dagger alongside the arrowhead, then took a firm hold of the shaft, and pulled, the vicious barbed iron head came free with a gush of blood. "Do not heal that," he warned Wynne and passed the arrow head to Leliana. "Can you tell anything about what is on that?"

Leliana took it from him, and examined it carefully. "There is nothing left on this...oh, wait a minute." Delicately she lifted a tiny smear of white paste from behind the arrowhead with a fingertip, sniffed it, then tasted it with the tip of her tongue. Her face became grim. "I cannot be sure, but I think that this is breakbone. It is used very little in Ferelden, it is far commoner in the Free Marches. Odourless, tasteless - and deadly. It causes first unconsciousness, then convulsions. It kills by suffocation - the body is sent into spasms that force the shoulders back and the spine into extension, the lungs cannot work properly. There is no antidote."

"So what do we do then?"

Leliana's face was distressed as she looked down on Muirnara. "I have seen it treated successfully once - and only once, when the dose absorbed was small. The victim has to be restrained in a foetal position to stop the spine extending, and the poison sweated out of the body, by hot baths or similar. It runs its course over about eight hours."

"Right, build up that fire." Loghain took the dagger again. "Wynne, hold her. I am going to try to open that wound and bleed as much of the residual poison out as possible"

Wynne shook her head. "This is no simple snake bite from the Wilds, Loghain Mac Tir."

His blue eyes flashed frozen fire for a minute. "Would that it were, madam. If you have a better suggestion, I am all ears."

Wynne bit her lip and then with a sigh took hold of Muirnara's shoulders. Loghain made two swift cross cuts over the arrow wound, then as the blood flowed freely he forced her forearm into a pumping motion to increase the flow. At one point Muirnara half reared up, screaming, and it took the combined force of both Wynne and Leliana to pin her down again. When she had lost what appeared to be enough blood to dye most of the surrounding snow scarlet, Loghain allowed Wynne to heal the cut, then with belts borrowed from both the other women, he bound Muirnara's wrists together, then tied her bent elbows to her sides. A third belt, Muirnara's own, trapped her ankles and flexed her knees. Loghain positioned himself behind her, his arms pinning her body forward. "Get furs over her, and do not let that fire die down."

It was to be a night that none of them, except Muirnara, mercifully unconscious for much of it, would ever forget. Muirnara alternated between raving spasms, fighting the restraints hard enough for the leather straps to cut her flesh, screaming piteously, and then falling into spells of unconsciousness so deep that a casual observer might have thought her dead. Wynne and Leliana kept the fire built up, boiled water for endless hot fomentations applied to arms and legs, forced her to swallow hot water whenever she was conscious enough for the liquid not just to trickle out of her mouth again, cleaned her when she vomited it back up again and forced her to drink more. Wolf lay beside her, licking at her bound hands whenever she fell still and silent again. And through it all, Loghain held her, murmured softly to her when she appeared lucid enough to hear him, pinned her shoulders forward when the spasms came and her back fought to arch against the restraints. Leliana had said the poison was called breakbone for a reason, that the force of the spasms had been known to cause fractures of ribs, of long bones, even of the spine itself.

But towards the dawn it appeared they were finally winning. The spasms were less frequent than they had been, the periods between spasms were both longer, and resembled normal sleep. Loghain had sent Wynne to her sleeping furs for a couple of hours, and Leliana alone tended the fire. Loghain had not moved in over six hours and exhaustion was plain in every line on his face. Leliana offered to take over, he shook his head. "You don't have the physical strength for this. I have barely managed to hold her through the worst of the convulsions, and my body mass must be near to twice yours."

Leliana nodded to that, but she made him a cup of hot tea, and brought it round to him, holding it so that he could drink from the cup without using his hands. He thanked her tiredly. She stood holding the empty cup and looking down at the two Wardens. "You love her, don't you?"

He looked up, his tired face managing a shadow of his usual sardonic expression. "You have been reading too many bad Orlesian romances, girl." He reached for a cloth and wiped sweat from Muirnara's face along with a trickle of blood from her bitten lip.

Leliana shook her head. "Why deny it, Loghain? I have listened all night to what you have been saying to her."

Loghain winced. "To the best of my knowledge, all I have said to your Warden here has been variants on the theme of 'Don't you dare die, you bloody woman.' Hardly romantic."

Leliana smiled at that. "Well, I have to say, that coming from the man who has held her all night, that sounds remarkably like "I love you" to me."

He bundled up the cloth and lobbed it, one handed, at Leliana, it fell far short. "Go and do something useful and get that soaked in more hot water. Maybe then you will be too busy to try to make a story or a song about everything."

Leliana flashed him a smile of genuine amusement, and turned away. And Loghain sat, holding Muirnara, and looking out towards the paling eastern sky.


	14. Chapter 14

Muirnara woke to subdued firelight that seemed completely wrong, to aches all over the body as if every muscle had been pounded, and to a profound sense of confusion. "What time is it?" she managed, and then coughed and spat, trying to clear a foul taste in her dry mouth. Wynne was immediately at her side, offering a cold drink. "It's just weak tea, child, water would probably make you vomit again. Try small sips." She supported Muirnara's shoulders as the Warden drank, her hands still shaking. "It is late evening, you've slept for about twelve hours."

"Late evening?" Muirnara tried to make sense of this, taking tiny sips of the tea to attempt to quell her rebellious stomach. "I remember..."she put one hand to her face, where a pounding headache appeared to have taken up permanent residence behind her right eyebrow. "I remember, the battle, the talking Darkspawn, Flemeth, then nothing...if you say I've slept twelve hours then I must have lost the better part of a day. How is that possible?"

"You were poisoned, cherie." Leliana came over to join Wynne. "You had an arrowhead in your arm from one of the Darkspawn that had a poison on it that left you first unconscious and then out of your mind for many hours. Once it ran its course, Wynne healed you as best she could, but she has already taken as much lyrium in a day and a night, as she would normally use in a week. A bad week."

Some things were becoming clearer - nightmare memories of agony, fighting to move, to breathe, bound limbs, heat that rivalled her worst memories of fever. Strong hands holding her, a body against her back, a voice repeating simple words of comfort over and over." She looked around. "Loghain? Where is he?"

"Asleep." Wynne indicated the other tent. "He sat up with you all night, to stop you injuring yourself when the fits came on you. When you were finally sleeping normally I sent him off to get some sleep himself."

"And that was the first time, Wynne, that you have ever said anything to him that he didn't argue with." Leliana took Muirnara's empty teacup away. "If you can keep that down without vomiting for a few hours, cherie, then you can have a little soup."

_So I lay all of last night, bound hand and foot, slipping in and out of unconsciousness, and restrained by the strong arms of Loghain Mac Tir. Forget the bad Antivan adventure stories, we are firmly into the bad Orlesian romances here._

"Loghain said something very like that too."

Muirnara blinked. "Did I just say that out loud?"

"More or less, cherie. I wouldn't worry about it. Take this medicine that Wynne has made for you, and lie down again. Wolf is keeping watch, we will have plenty of warning if anything happens."

Muirnara choked down the bitter tasting draught of boiled herbs, and lay back on her furs, trying to make sense of the lost hours. Her bruised wrists and ankles made sense now, her exploring fingers touched healed cuts on her shoulder where she remembered the arrow striking her. But it was getting harder and harder to think, a pleasant woolly feeling was insinuating itself into the back of her mind. Whatever Wynne had put into that medicine was sending her to sleep again as well as dulling the pain. She gave up fighting and drifted away into dreamless oblivion.

When she woke again, it was full dark, but paler streaks were infiltrating the eastern skyline. Leliana had vanished, the shape in front of the fire was clearly that of Loghain, Wolf at his side. He had an awl and some cord in his hands and was carefully piercing holes in the sleeve of the leather shirt he was working on. Wolf was pretending to be asleep - she knew that Mabari well, and the half pricked left ear was a giveaway.

Carefully, her muscles still protesting, she eased herself out of the furs and moved towards the fire. He glanced over his shoulder and shifted across to make space for her. "There's soup in the pot, and the last of the bread beside it. Wynne said you could have it if you were no longer feeling queasy."

Her stomach was actually clamouring at her that failing to feed a Grey Warden for over a day constituted cruel and unusual punishment. She reached for the bread - stale and hard but she did not care, and took a small bite, testing to see if it was going to stay down. It appeared to be. She poured herself a bowl of the lukewarm soup and dipped the stale bread in it. "What time is it?"

"About two hours to dawn, Warden." He looked at her. "I said to Wynne and Leliana that if you were fit to travel today then we ought to get out of here. We have discovered about all we reasonably can, and we are likely to be travelling slower on the way back than we were coming here. Unless you are going to be heroically stupid and inform me that you feel up to a forced march."

She shook her head. "No, you're right. But what have we really discovered here?"

"Mostly negatives, but they are as important as the positives in information gathering. We know that the Archdemon is not here, and has not emerged from the same place that the Darkspawn assaulted the tower from. We have no way of knowing if this is going to change, only that this is how things appear to be for now. And we know," he added grimly, "that there is a Darkspawn here of a type not seen before, and he is in league with the most powerful sorceress in the Korcari Wilds, who may or may not be human, and who apparently has risen from the dead. There is nothing we can do about any of this at present, except take the information back, and hand it on to anyone who might be able to make sense of it."

She stared into the fire, intently chewing on a particularly tough piece of bread. "The information about the Archdemon - or the absence of the Archdemon - can go to Arl Eamon and Queen Anora. But this talking Darkspawn, and Flemeth... I don't even know who we should be telling that to."

"How about that Orlesian Warden?"

She allowed that to pass - as usual he was ignoring the fact that Riordan was actually born and bred in Highever. "I will certainly tell him - if he is even around to tell. He was going to scout south east towards the Brecilian Forest, to make contact with the Dalish and get reports of Darkspawn movement that way."

"If we had known this earlier, I might have suggested that we asked him to consult with the Dalish, because they seemed to know about The Woman Of Many Years...of course, we can ask the swamp witch when we get back to the camp, but she does not appear to have been a fountain of useful information so far. But as to who to consult about a talking darkspawn..." He paused, looked thoughtful, then shook his head. "Maric told me something once about a Darkspawn that spoke, a long time ago. But he never went into details and I came to the conclusion that the Grey Wardens had sworn him to some sort of secrecy over it." One side of his mouth quirked up. "Your order as a whole seems to be suicidally obsessed with keeping secrets, and ridiculously inept at actually doing so. The Joining for example - even my daughter knew that it was frequently fatal, but the Grey Wardens insist that the potential for death must never be mentioned because of the difficulty of getting recruits...the whole thing does smack of an organisation not exactly rooted in the real world."

She shook her head. "The worst kept secret on Thedas it seems, and yet men die so that the secret may be protected." Her mind went back to the night of her Joining - poor Ser Jory, with his pregnant wife, and his inability to face something that he could not deal with by striking at it with his blade. And Duncan, who she had always seen as her father's friend, kind, level headed and a last point of sanity in a world gone mad, striking Ser Jory down with a brutal efficiency that suggested it had not been the first time for him to preside over a Joining where something similar had happened. Then the chalice had been offered to her, standing alone with the bodies of Daveth and Ser Jory at her feet, proof of the price of a refusal, and the price of a failure. But it had never crossed her mind to refuse to drink from it, now she wondered whether she had been hoping for the bitter mercy of oblivion to take her. If so, the mercy had been withheld. She found herself looking up towards the far end of Ostagar, to the area where the three of them had been offered death in a cup, and only one had walked away.

"What are you thinking of?" Loghain's voice was quiet as he tied off the last knot in the cord and tucked the awl away in his pack.

"The last day but one here in Ostagar, when we were here before. We were out all night hunting Darkspawn in the Korcari WIlds for blood that Duncan needed for the Joining ritual, and came back near dawn. And at dawn we gathered up there, on the battlements that look to the north." Her voice trailed off and she stared at the northern walkway."

He shook out the leather shirt and handed it to her. "There you are, that's the undershirt for your mail. We had to slit the sleeve to get it off you and get the arrow out. Do you want to walk up there and look? It was the only bit of the ruins we did not clear out on the first day here."

She nodded, shrugging the shirt over her shoulders. "Thank you." He helped her to her feet.

They passed Wynne on the way, standing near the remains of the Magi encampment and looking deep in thought. She nodded to them both, casting a professional eye over Muirnara. "How are you now?"

"Much better, thank you." Her muscles still were sore, but the headache was gone.

"Good." Wynne's eyes raked over Loghain, then she gave a small smile and a nod. "Don't be too long. I will go back and start breakfast."

Muirnara stumbled a couple of times as they climbed the ruined steps. Loghain's hand was under her elbow each time. "It is just as well that we are not facing constant Darkspawn attacks here. I feel as weak as Sten's kitten this morning."

He raised an eyebrow. "Sten's kitten?"

"Oh, didn't you know? I thought it was Sten's own worst kept secret. He found this scrawny ginger kitten somewhere outside the Circle Tower, sheltering in a bucket. When he put a hand in to get it out, it ripped his hand to the bone. He said he had never seen such fighting spirit in something so small. So it has travelled with the Feddicks ever since. If you spy on him when he thinks you aren't watching him, you'll find him playing with it, and a toy mouse on a string. He claims he's improving its hunting skills."

Loghain seemed very amused by that. "It seems our quiet Qunari has hidden depths."

They had reached the top of the steps. Muirnara walked forward a few paces alone and looked around. "We stood here. Alistair stood by that pillar. Duncan took the chalice from that stone table and brought it to us." Her voice trailed off as she looked around her, then she walked towards the table and stopped. "It's still here." Her voice was now little more than a whisper.

He came to join her. She was looking down at the empty cup, half rolled under the table. Then she stooped and picked it up, balancing in in the fingertips of both hands, as she had done before drinking the lyrium laced poison from it. Duncan's words echoed in her mind. "You are called upon to submit yourself to the Taint, for the greater good." She had forced the burning foulness into her throat, and had faintly heard him say "From this moment forward, you are a Grey Warden." Then she had fallen, and the dream-racked darkness had claimed her.

Loghain was also looking at the chalice, then he gently lifted it from her fingers. "What did you hope to find here, Warden?"

"I do not know." She looked up from the blackened heart of the cup to meet his eyes. "All that there is here is memories. Two men died at my Joining, it feels like their ghosts never left this place. I did not expect to find the cup here." She looked at it again. "I suppose I ought to take it with me."

"Why?"

"Honestly? I don't know. I used to keep odd things I found that were to do with the Grey Wardens or their history, and give them to Alistair later. Now...I suppose habit made me think of it. I would not want to keep it for myself. The memories in this place are bitter enough, I do not need to carry the bitterness away with me."

"Then don't." Before she realised what he was about to do, he had taken the cup and thrown it, overarm, far out over the battlements and down into the snow covered land. She watched it fall, there was a flash of light on the tarnished silver, and then it was gone, landed somewhere in the soft snow.

Then he took hold of her chin, tilted her face up to his, and kissed her. There was little tenderness in the kiss, his lips were hard and bruising on hers, already sore from where she had bitten them in her ravings the last night. For a moment she was startled into immobility, and then her lips parted and she returned the kiss with passion and some despair, her hands coming up to touch his face, then curve around his neck. He held her for a brief moment, then broke the embrace and stepped back away from her, it was hard to read his face, but there was grief and anger in his eyes, and something far more subtle. Then his mouth curved into a mirthless smile.

"Just be sure, when you haul the memories out to torment yourself with later, as you generally do, that you remember that too." he said. Then he turned away from her, leaving her staring after him.


	15. Chapter 15

_What the hell was he thinking of?_

That question and versions thereof were to buzz in circles through Muirnara's mind many times during the laborious trek back through the poisoned lands. The journey as had been predicted was slower than their southward trip, and had they not been able to replenish their water bottles with melted snow before leaving Ostagar, they would have been very low on drinking water. As it was, their food was short-rationed because a journey that had taken barely two days before seemed set to take at least four to return. And Muirnara was well aware that she was the one slowing them, weak and easily tired. Wynne had attempted two more healings, which had had little effect, and had warned Muirnara that she would not try a third. "I can heal a broken bone, seal a cut, lower a fever," she told the Warden, "but the reserves that permit me to do this come from you, all I do is speed up what your body would do anyway. And your body's reserves are not limitless. Food and rest are what you require now, and you will get little of either until we get out of these Blighted lands."

Loghain had listened to this assessment, nodded agreement, and then briskly set a timetable for their return journey, allowing for extra stops, and had gone through their food stores to allocate rations. She was aware that the others had given her more than her share of the food and had tried to protest. This also had fallen on deaf ears. "You are making up for blood loss, cherie," Leliana had told her. "You will slow us still more if you are too weak to keep walking. It is a short period of time, we can all manage." It was hard to argue with the logic, but she still felt guilty.

There were times that she thought that that strange episode on Ostagar's battlements had never happened, that it was a fever dream born of the residue of poison in her system. Loghain since then had been apparently unchanged, a trusted companion, a strong sword and shield at her side, courteous and distant. He had addressed her solely as "Warden" and never by her name since they left Ostagar, he had carefully enquired after her health and tiredness each day before they struck camp, and again at intervals through the day. There had been no opportunity for a private conversation, and she would not have known how to start it if there had been.

_What the hell was I thinking of?_

An even harder question to answer. She had not expected the kiss. She had thought until then that he had seen her as some strange amalgam of his daughter and Ser Cauthrien, as a girl who had become in some way his responsibility. The pieces of advice that he had given her in those rare moments when he chose to be talkative, and Maker only knew that those moments were few and far between, had been advice that her father would have agreed with. The hard taskmaster who had drilled her every morning on the way to Ostagar, and dealt out a new set of bruises if she gave him even the slightest opening was a facet of the man that she guessed Cauthrien had probably known well, the teacher who will not permit a pupil to perform an ounce below their abilities, and who will drive them until they achieve what they believed to be impossible. She was more and more confused about how she had ever defeated the man at the Landsmeet. There was no trick of swordplay that she had tried on him in those sparring sessions that he did not appear to know a dozen counters for, and she was yet to get a touch on him. Admittedly, the Landsmeet duel had lasted over an hour, and to some extent she had worn him down in the heavy plate, being lightly armoured and able to move faster and with less fatigue. She also wondered now just how much grief, and despair, and the feeling of betrayal that he must have known that day, had preyed upon him, and whether at some level he had not wanted to win, had hoped for a deathstroke and for peace at last, without the burden of a country to carry on his shoulders. She would never know.

She was even less certain about her own feelings for Loghain. Her love for Alistair had been very sweet, and ultimately doomed, and had been a journey of infinite tenderness and mutual discovery. She had been girl enough to think, for a long time, that love would always find a way, and whatever they did, they would do it together. And then even before the Landsmeet she had been aware that love alone was not going to save them. The Landsmeet was divided, the country at war, and Ferelden needed a king, a king of the Calenhad bloodline, that could be seen, and believed in. And Ferelden needed a strong queen, and she had wondered if it was a role she could fill, and had known it was not. She was not the sort of woman who would be able to stand behind a king's shoulder and play the political games that Anora had proved herself so adept at. And Anora was much loved by the common folk, if less so by some nobles. She would have had some support in the Landsmeet had she wished to rule alone. To unite the Landsmeet, they had needed to present Alistair and Anora together. But she had also believed that they needed not only the king and queen, but that Ferelden still needed its greatest general, now more than ever. And in sparing that general, she had doomed her own last hope of any future with the man she loved.

She had thought that she hated Loghain. And then she had come to a grudging respect and tolerance for a man who had endured a difficult situation, under the command of a girl less than half his age and in the company of others with many reasons to wish him dead. The silent dignity that he had displayed had bought him that respect. Then the flashes of kindness he had shown to her had produced something approaching a friendship, a realisation that if there was one person in the whole of Thedas who knew what it was like to shoulder a heavy burden because it had to be done and there was nobody else to do it, then it was this man. She had let her guard down in his company now in more ways than one. And then, with a rage filled, grief driven kiss on a snow covered tower, her world had been shaken again.

_What on earth do the others think?_

She was far from certain just what the others even knew of that strange moment. It was clear that Wynne's overall opinion of Loghain had been substantially altered in the course of these few days, that he was becoming to her just one more unruly chick to tuck under her wing, make sure that he was properly fed, and to scold after doing something reckless. Loghain seemed amused by this. Leliana had watched both Loghain and Muirnara when they returned to the camp in Ostagar for breakfast on that last morning, with that odd little half smile that normally meant she had seen far more of a situation than anyone was likely to be comfortable with, and had studiously refrained from any comment. Which in its way was even more annoying. And as for Wolf, he wagged his stumpy tail in a proprietory manner when he looked at either of them. In some ways, that was the most annoying thing of all. He had always been -her- Mabari - of course, he still was. But he was acting as though Loghain had in some way become hers, and therefore in need of appropriate canine supervision. And she had no way to stop him doing it.

_I can't believe I'm sitting here trying to think of ways to argue with my dog._

At least they were less than a day's march now from where their camp was. Or where their camp should be if the others had followed instructions, which was never entirely predictable. So hopefully by nightfall the group should be together again, and able to discuss what was to happen next.

"It does not appear that the blight has spread any further northwards than on our outward journey," Wynne commented after a short skirmish which dispatched two hurlocks wandering near the road. "I was expecting the befouled lands to reach almost to Lake Calenhad."

Loghain nodded. "There is little change, to my senses at least. Which bears out our assumption that the horde is not currently moving north from Ostagar." Then he held up a hand, staring intently northwards. "Someone is coming. Not spawn. On foot. Two."

They quickly slipped off the road into the shelter of some trees - at last they had reached an area where trees once again had leaves, however yellowed and poor. The footsteps came nearer and nearer, then suddenly Leliana broke cover with a glad cry of "Sten!" A sigh of relief passed Wynne's lips and then they were all climbing back onto the road to greet the Qunari.

"We had become concerned." The giant's rumble was as emotionless as ever. "The witch calculated that you should have returned yesterday at the latest, therefore we assumed that there were injured amongst you. and came to look for you."

Loghain nodded. "You are a welcome sight. Particularly if you bring supplies with you."

Morrigan, who was Sten's companion, somewhat to Muirnara's surprise, was casting an eye over the group. "We have some supplies, but you are less than two hours now from where we are camped." Her gaze rested on Muirnara. "You are hurt?"

"It's a long story, Morrigan." She had thought her weakness was not particularly obvious. "I am healed. But not at full strength yet. It may take more than the two hours you just predicted at my current walking speed."

"Come then." Sten's arm indicated a roughly northwesterly direction. "If you are injured, kadan, would you wish me to carry you?"

"No, I am perfectly all right."

"No she isn't." That was Loghain's dry voice.

Sten looked from one Warden to the other. "I will never understand humans." Then without ceremony, he lifted Muirnara onto his back in the manner of an adult giving a child a ride, and started walking back up the road. She was outraged. "Sten, put me down!"

"Grey Warden, you are injured. And you have never demonstrated any sense yet when faced with injury, in the year I have known you. Therefore I am inclined to believe that your fellow Warden's assessment of your ability to walk is probably more accurate than your own." Sten's pace did not slack, and he did not appear to have any intention of putting her down either.

She was glad that Loghain was behind her, and that she could not see the smirk on his face. "I'll get you both for this later."

"Indeed, kadan."

Loghain's rumble of amusement came from over her left shoulder. "Save the revenge for a few days, Warden. There is little fun to be had in sparring with a kitten."

Leliana giggled. Muirnara's eyes flicked towards her. "I'll get all three of you for this."

"Promises, promises, cherie."

She shut her eyes and ignored all three of them. Four, if you counted that traitor tail wagging Mabari who wasn't backing her up.

Even though the pot over the fire when they arrived at the camp clearly contained yet another variant on the theme of lamb and pea stew, the smell had never been more inviting. Sten set her carefully down beside the fire and Wynne fixed her with the sternest grandmother gaze that she could summon up. "Stay there. Do not move. We'll get the tents, up, then you are having two helpings of that stew, and another dose of medicine afterwards. Any other problems can wait until then."

"Bully."

"It is entirely for your own good, child."

"Cara mia, how many arguments have you ever won with our good Wynne?" Zevran passed her a bowl of the stew. "What makes you think that you are going to improve on your score tonight?"

She sighed and dipped a spoon into the bowl. "So, what news from the rest of you? Before we start telling you about our adventures?"

"Almost nothing, Warden," Oghren commented. "Pitched the camp, sold the rubbish, made a little money. Killed a few spawn, killed a few bandits, sold their crap too. Oh, and Morrigan made one trip over to Redcliffe. All quiet. Except that the mages have now got there, and so have some of the dwarves, probably about a third of the Orzammar forces. And still no sign of the horde. Oh, and the dwarves have had at least two arguments with the Templars that came with the mages, that ended up in fights. And that's just the two sodding arguments we know about."

"Oh, wonderful. How did those start?"

"Well, cara mia, apparently the dwarves took offence at being called a bunch of godless gnomes, and the templars took offence at being called a flock of ball-less bucketheads in skirts. As to who threw the first insult, we shall probably never know."

"Has there been any word from Riordan?"

"Not that we know of." Wynne had noticed Muirnara's bowl empty and had taken it to refill. Morrigan took up the tale. "But even in good times, one man on foot travelling from Redcliffe to the Brecilian Forest and back would not be expected back for another sevenday, if not longer. And these are not the best of times."

"True." Muirnara absently began to eat the second bowl of stew. "But a nuisance. I badly needed to talk to Riordan. Some of what happened at Ostagar...well, he's the only other Grey Warden in the country at present, and the only person likely to have the answers I need is a Warden."

"Cara mia," Zevran said quietly, "he is not the only other Warden in the country, as you know well."

Muirnara looked startled, then realisation dawned, and she groaned. "As if I hadn't been trying hard enough to forget about Avernus. But you're right, Zev. If anyone knew, Avernus probably would. But can we afford another trip across half a country at the moment when we have no idea where or when the main attack is going to come?"

"Warden, if this Avernus has the information we seek, then can we afford -not- to make such a trip?" Loghain had been listening carefully to this. "And just who is Avernus anyway?"

The stew had become tasteless in her mouth. She replaced the spoon in the bowl and sighed as she looked at Loghain. "I'll tell you the story. But trust me, it does not make for good listening."


	16. Chapter 16

"I suppose you could say that the whole story really began over two hundred years ago, but for us it started around six months ago, when a merchant called Levi Dryden came to us talking about a promise that Duncan had made to him." Muirnara started the tale, though still with an air of reluctance.

Oghren grunted. "And as usual, the boss was a sucker for a sob story."

"I am not!"

"You are. Name me one village in Ferelden that we've been to, where you didn't take a break from the Blight to sort yet another moron's life out."

"Anyway," Muirnara went on, ignoring the dwarf. "He told us that he was a direct line descendent of Warden Commander Sophia Dryden."

Loghain raised an eyebrow. "The Sophia Dryden? Failed claimant to the throne, leader of the rebellion against King Arland, Ferelden's best example of fictitious Grey Warden political neutrality?"

"That one. The short version of the story is that Levi claimed that he was attempting to clear his family name, and that history had badly judged Great Great Grandmother Sophia. He believed that if there was any evidence at all to prove what had really happened in Sophia's rebellion, then it would be at the old Warden stronghold of Soldier's Peak. But the only access to the Peak is through a labyrinth of mine tunnels that he did not dare to try on his own. He approached Duncan for aid, and Duncan agreed to send a force of Wardens through the tunnels with him to try to reclaim the peak - it would have given the Order back a strong strategic northern base."

"So what happened?"

"Ostagar happened."

"I see."

"So eventually he tracked me and Alistair down to try to claim on that promise."

Loghain looked thoughtful. "I am starting to think I ought to have hanged every scouting party I sent out to find the remainder of the Wardens, for gross incompetence. Because they always came back claiming to have found no trace of you, but it is absolutely clear that every other idiot in Thedas just walked into your camp on a daily basis."

"I did find them, Loghain," Zevran pointed out. "Unfortunately as I have already told you, I was unable to fill the contract."

Loghain snorted. "So you keep telling me, elf."

"I'm terribly broken up over it."

"Hmm. Well thank you kindly for informing me. Yet again."

"Give it a rest, Zevran." Muirnara turned her back on the smirking elf and took up the story again. "Anyway, we escorted him through the mine tunnels to the Peak, when we got there it was clear that the whole place was one seething mass of undead, and we kept seeing odd flashbacks of the Wardens' final defence of the place."

"And demons." Wynne interjected. "Don't forget about the demons."

"As if I could. So the Peak was a seething mass of undead and demons, and as we slaughtered our way deeper into the fortress, we realised from the visions that we all kept seeing, that the Wardens had summoned the demons themselves in a final defence of the keep when King Arland's forces had all but overrun the place. And that the mage responsible for the summoning had lost control of the demons more or less as soon as he called them up."

Wynne pursed her lips. "As he should have known would happen. Honestly, what was the Circle teaching young mages back then?"

"In all probability, Wynne, he may well never have been a Circle mage at all. The Grey Wardens recruit apostates too. And as you might well remember," Muirnara added pointedly, "no matter what the Circle teaches, there will always be mages who will try it, as Uldred demonstrated."

Wynne looked sulky, but she gave a half nod to that.

"So, after we'd cleaned out most of the undead, some of the demons, and despatched what was left of Sophia herself - a long dead corpse possessed by a Pride Demon, it became clear that there was still a living Warden at the Peak - Avernus, the blood mage who had called up the demons in the first place on Sophia's orders. Alive, and over two hundred years old."

Loghain was now listening to this with the intent stare that meant his mind was working out several battle plans behind the still mask. "Now, leaving aside that nobody lives two hundred years..." He looked at Muirnara and she could see that another silent question was hanging behind his eyes.

"You mean, why had he not heard the Calling? Basically, as a result of some truly appalling magical research into ways to block the Calling for future generations of Wardens. Research that had killed every one of his test subjects to date, Warden and otherwise."

"I see." Loghain sat back, mulling this over. "So tell me, Warden, given the likely pressures on you by that sanctimonious Templar and others to resolve this situation in the most obvious way," he carefully refrained from looking at Wynne but her snort suggested she had taken the inference, "why did you not just execute him? You had little hesitation in sending that blood mage at Redcliffe back to the Circle to face Templar justice, and you knew exactly what that justice would be. What made this mage's crimes any the less? Because I presume you are speaking of the man you called Avernus, and it is clear from what Zevran said, that the man is still alive."

She stared into the fire, feeling close to exhaustion despite the rest and the food. "Honestly, Loghain? There have been times that I have asked myself that too. He helped us repair the tears in the Veil and destroy the remaining demons there, but that was a drop in the ocean in mitigation of all that he had done. I don't doubt that Duncan, had he been there, would have run Avernus through without a second's thought, for all the Wardens who had died at the man's hands, directly and indirectly. Avernus asked me for my judgement on him, and I should have killed him - and I could not do it. We are told over and over that Wardens do what they must - to end a blight, to keep recruits coming in, to maintain the Order between Blights when people would rather forget that we exist. He had acted on the direct orders of his Warden Commander, that did not excuse what he did. But she was beyond the judgement of men, and I was unable to punish him for her actions as well as his own. There was nothing I could have done to him that would remotely have been justice, by any scale that I know of. So I left him there, with orders that he was to continue his research, by ethical means, both to give a meaning to the lives he had sacrificed, and to use what was left of his own life to pay back the debt that could not be paid."

Across the fire Loghain's eyes met hers.

 _The same judgement that you gave to me?_ the blue gaze asked her silently.

_Perhaps, Loghain. I think now that I no longer know what justice is. If I ever did._

She shrugged, and took the cup of medicine that Wynne handed to her with a spoken word of thanks, and a grimace. "So there you have it. The Wardens have a usable northern base, Levi Dryden and his clan moved in there to keep the place habitable, and store their own trade goods, and in a tower there, there is a two hundred year old crazy blood mage who also happens to be a Grey Warden. And if anyone knows the truth about Flemeth, or about darkspawn who appear to be rational and talk, then he is likely to be the one person in Ferelden who does. But I would have been happy if I had never had to meet him face to face again. None of us who cleared the Peak will ever forget the results of what he did."

"Nobody is saying that you need to meet him again, Warden," Loghain pointed out as she forced the bitter herbs down and wiped her mouth. "If some members of this group know the way through the tunnels, then I could go there to tell him what we found. You won't be fit to travel for some days anyway."

"Yes I will. A good night's sleep and a couple of decent meals, and I'll be fit for that journey anyway, it's through the tunnels the whole way so the likelihood of any fighting is small."

Loghain heaved an exasperated sigh. "Warden, given the events of the last days and the fact you were actually carried into the camp by Sten tonight, what does it take for you to listen to reason?"

"Loghain Mac Tir, may I remind you that I am in charge of this party?"

"You remind me on a daily basis, madam. That does not mean I do not have a duty to point out to you the occasions when your actions make no sense at all."

The others had drawn back from the fire a little way to watch them shout at each other. Then a little further, as the shouting got louder.

Oghren cocked a thumb at the two arguing Wardens. "Remind me how we used to deal with this when she and Alistair used to start yelling at each other?"

Zevran smirked. "Generally, we left them to get on with it and let them finish up in bed together once they got fed up of shouting at each other, and somehow by the following morning they had usually agreed a sensible compromise. And by a sensible compromise, I mean that nine times out of ten, Alistair had backed down."

Wynne gave an exasperated snort and walked off towards her own tent. "It's like travelling with a bunch of children sometimes."

Oghren chuckled. "Don't think they're going to sort things out that way, somehow."

"A great pity they are not, my dwarven friend." The elf's smirk was getting wider. "I have never known two people who were each capable of being so deaf to what the other was really saying, even with friends to point out the problems."

Oghren took a pull from his bottle and glanced back to the fire. "Do we give it five minutes and then go try to talk them down? Or do we just throw a bucket of water over the first one that pulls a knife?"

Leliana, who had also been watching, started to laugh. "Two minutes too late for that. She pulled the dagger, he took it off her and threw it in the kettle."

"Woman, you are being completely bloody impossible!" Loghain's shout drifted back from the fireplace.

Zevran shrugged. "Anyway, no point. I saw what Wynne put in that medicine, the Warden will be asleep in less than a quarter of an hour anyway."

"Point." Oghren belched and offered the bottle to Leliana who pulled a face and waved it away. "So who's your money on to win?"

"Him. She has got the vocabulary, he has got the staying power." Zevran glanced at Leliana.

"It is a great pity that Shale and Wolf are on guard at present," Leliana added. "Probably sending a muddy Mabari to bounce all over the pair of them would be the easiest way to stop this."

Zevran laughed. "Ah, the Mabari. Ferelden's greatest hidden weapon. But our lovely Warden has now yawned twice," a glance, "no, make that three times, and her eyes are glazing. Also I think she has now repeated the last thing she shouted three times, so she cannot be far off slumber."

Zevran was proved to be right. Not five minutes later, Loghain was seen to lift Muirnara from her seat near the fire, carry her into her tent and lay her down on her bedroll, pulling the fur covers over her. He paused to speak to Wynne and they saw her nod to whatever he had just said, then he strolled over to where the others were watching. Sten had moved away and was running a whetstone down Asala's blade, muttering something about humans and their incomprehensible mating rituals. Morrigan had ignored the whole thing. The other three were still trying to hide smiles. He raised his eyebrows. "I take it that you were all enjoying the show?"

"Oh, indeed." Zevran purred. "Our lovely Warden is a remarkable sight to behold when angry. You, I am afraid, my friend, are considerably less picturesque, but the whole thing was still very pleasant to watch."

"Dare I even ask if any decision was reached?" Leliana added mischievously.

He snorted. "Frankly, if I had any sense I'd take four of you and just set off for Soldier's Peak now, and deal with the Warden when we all got back. But since I think you would all flatly refuse anyway, the agreement is that we will all go. After she has rested for a full day and a night. With Wynne's assistance to keep her in the tent that long, should it prove necessary."

Zevran raised his eyebrows. "Admirable tactics, my friend."

Oghren belched. "And the sodding Warden agreed to this, did she?"

"Eventually. How much she will remember, of course, is questionable, but Wynne has promised her help if the argument starts again tomorrow."

Zevran looked impressed. "And if you have managed to get Wynne on your side, I can only applaud the tactics still more."

Loghain's mouth quirked in a one sided smile. "Wynne's weak point in her defences is her concern for her patients."

Leliana nodded. "I recall her telling Alistair once that if he refused to rest and allow the broken leg that she had mended time to recover fully, she would turn his collection of golem dolls into giant spiders. Giant hairy spiders."

Oghren laughed. "Could she sodding well even do that?"

"I have no idea." Leliana smiled. "But he clearly thought she could. Which was all that really mattered."


	17. Chapter 17

Emerging from the network of old mining tunnels into the late afternoon light of an autumn day felt, as it had felt on previous journeys to Soldier's Peak, like a rebirth. The journey, twisting and turning through the mines, reliant on a poor map, and more recently on obscure markings set at key junctions, was always nerve racking, a feeling that this might finally be the time that they really got lost and never found their way out again. When Levi Dryden had led them there for the first time, he had admitted afterwards that he had been unsure of the route more than once - after they had cleared the Peak they had devised the marking system which would mean little to someone who wandered into the mines by accident, but for anyone who understood the symbols gave reliable directions and distances. She had been explaining the code system to Loghain as they walked, it helped to pass the time in the darkness, lit only by glowstones carried by Sten at point and Leliana in the rear. They had never seen anything in the tunnels larger than a rat, and there weren't many of those, but it was never wise to make assumptions. At least there was no hint of the taint anywhere in the tunnel networks, no Darkspawn had yet come this way.

Loghain had picked up their code very fast and had been approving about it. "Simple, easy to remember, almost impossible for someone without the key to it to translate. The essence of a good code. I wish we had had something half this good back in the days of the Rebellion. Who thought it up?"

"My brother." She laughed and elaborated. "He devised it when we were children, as a way of passing messages to each other at formal dinners without our parents being aware of what we were doing, it could be tapped out by kicking chair legs and then translated by watching which knife or fork the sender picked up next. I just adapted the forms to use for directions."

She had only ever mentioned her brother once before, that one night in Loghain's tent at the camp. Fergus was still an ache in her chest that would not go away, but had eased with time to something bearable, as long as she did not think about him too often. Loghain had nodded and obliquely changed the subject. "If the only approach to Soldier's Peak is through these tunnels, then I am amazed that King Arland's forces ever took it, no matter how many men they were prepared to throw against the Wardens. You could starve the place out, given time, but I fail to see how you could bring an army in."

"They starved the Keep for the better part of a year, according to the records we found - and then the Wardens were finally betrayed by one of their own - a young Warden less than a year past his Joining. He had been a Templar, and had been horrified out of his mind by what Sophia and Avernus were doing - he betrayed the route through the tunnels to Arland's army, on the understanding that the defenders were to be offered the chance to surrender, and given safe passage if they laid down their arms and agreed to leave Ferelden."

"That bit didn't make it into any of the history books."

"No, it was not the shining hour of either side. The betrayer was discovered by Sophia and handed over to Avernus for his experiments - but Arland had never intended to keep his word and permit the defenders to surrender either. The Wardens were slain to the last man, with the exception of Avernus himself - the demons wiped out defenders and attackers alike. And Wardens Peak lay empty for the following two hundred years." Muirnara pulled a face. "Mind you, you also have to remember that it was Avernus who told us that story. So whether all, some or any of it is true...who knows."

As they emerged, Levi Dryden could be seen waving enthusiastically to them. He came running towards them. "Warden! Mikhael has finished your sword! Just you wait until you see what he's done with it...oh." The smile dropped from his face like a stone as he saw Loghain with them. "Teyrn Loghain, we did not expect..." Muirnara hastened to explain, drawing this history of the Landsmeet and its aftermath in a few terse sentences. Levi seemed distinctly relieved, though still ill at ease. "So, er, how are we to address you, Your Grace?"

"I am a Grey Warden." Loghain's tone had some dry amusement. "Address me simply as Warden - or by my name if you prefer."

"Warden." Levi's discomfort did not seem much less, but he turned back to Muirnara. "Wardens, even. How long will you be staying? We have got guest rooms cleared out in the main keep now, I just need to know how many extra to tell my sister Rebecca we are feeding tonight."

Muirnara laughed. "Eight, plus one Mabari for supper. Shale doesn't eat. And we'll only be staying one night, Levi, we only came here so I could speak to Avernus. Has he emerged from that tower at all since we left?"

"No, Warden. Never comes out, never sends any messages. Doesn't eat, doesn't do anything." Levi's broad forehead showed his puzzlement. "Er...he is alive, isn't he? I know that sounds like a silly question, but after we found Great Great Grandmother Sophia like...well, like she was, I couldn't help wondering..."

"By any test our mages could do, Levi, he's alive and he isn't possessed. But as to what he really is now...well, the Maker only knows."

"Anyway, Warden." Levi seemed to be overcoming some of his uncertainty. "Mikhael wants you to come and look at the sword. Calls it his master work, he does, says he'll never manage anything better than that."

"Very well, Levi, tell him I'm on my way." The merchant moved away and she turned to the others. "Go dump the gear in the main hall and see what the Drydens have sorted us out for accommodation. Maybe there might be a chance of hot baths, if we're really lucky."

"Warden, you know exactly how to tempt a man," Zevran quipped as the others moved off towards the main keep. Muirnara turned and walked towards the forges. Loghain remained behind her. Mikhael Dryden was bent over his anvil, working on a short dagger, she remembered her amazement before that a man with such huge hands should be capable of some of his works, she recalled him beating out a metal tracery of a bare branched tree to adorn a breastplate, a piece of filigree that had the delicacy of steel lace. He looked up as they approached, and a smile almost cracked his face in two.

"Warden! I was wondering when you would finally come back here." He placed the dagger carefully on the anvil and reached into a chest to lift out the shape of a longsword, swathed in oiled hessian and carefully bound up. "And though I say it myself, I think you will be delighted with this."

She took the bundle from his hands, fumbling a little with the ties, and laid it on the trestle table. Carefully unfolding the fabric, the sword was revealed, plain and unornamented. Muirnara thoroughly approved, any fancy work would have detracted from the beauty of the metal itself, a strange dark grey that flared blue where the light took it, unique and deadly. Loghain's eyes had widened as he saw it, and he let out an approving whistle. "That is a magnificent piece. Of what is it made?"

"Starmetal. The Warden brought me a piece taken from a crater where a star fell. I had only once in my life worked with such a metal before and that was over fifteen years ago. It takes three forgings to remove the brittleness and there is a risk on all three that the weapon you make will simply shatter. If it takes the third forging then it is as you see it, stronger than steel, and able to cleave rock without destroying the edge." Mikhael's pride was all over his face. Muirnara had taken the hilt of the sword and was running through a series of practice swings, testing the balance. "I took a red steel longsword that she used to wield to copy the size and shape, it's a lighter blade than a man would wield and there is a fine balance between weight and strength." He laughed. "I call it Starfang. But whatever you wish to name your blade, Warden, is fine by me."

Muirnara looked back at him, and there was a pure joy in her face that few of her companions had ever seen, a sheer delight in the wielding of a perfect weapon. "Starfang will do very well." Reverently she laid the sword down on the table again. "I will have to commission a sheath for this when we next meet with a good leather worker, it seems inappropriate to insult such a masterpiece with my old worn sheath."

Mikhael beamed. "Ah, I am ahead of you there, Warden. When I finished it, I asked Levi to request Master Wade in Denerim to make the sheath. It was collected from there when Levi finished the last trading trip." He took another package out from below the table and unwrapped it to reveal a beautifully made sheath and sword belt in dark blue leather, also without ornament except a tiny motif in the same dark metal as the sword. "I made the decoration with the last fragments of the starmetal. What do you think?"

"It is beyond beautiful, just as the sword is." She traced the fine metal filigree with a fingertip, a griffon with a shooting star behind it. "I hope that you didn't tell Herren that the piece was for me, he would probably have thrown you out of the shop."

"It's all right, Warden, we dealt with Master Wade direct. Herren was in bed with a toothache at the time. Master Wade asked to be remembered to you, and hopes that your dragonscale mail is still giving you good service."

"It is indeed." Muirnara fumbled for her belt pouch. "At least with what we brought back from Ostagar, I can pay you for this work - though no matter what you charge me for this, it will not be a fraction of what this blade is really worth."

"Warden, if you think I am going to take a single copper penny in payment for this, then you have another think coming. It has been a privilege to work this metal."

Muirnara shook her head and was about to speak, Mikhael forestalled her. "You have refused to allow Levi to pay you to let us use Soldier's Peak as a base, therefore you are not allowed to pay us for armour repairs or similar. That was the agreement, was it not? Take your sword, and the Maker grant that the Archdemon dies by it, and we live to see peace return to Ferelden."

"Amen to that indeed," Loghain murmured, watching Muirnara finally accept defeat and sheathe the sword at her side. She looked at Loghain and raised an eyebrow, he nodded. "Shall we head for the Keep itself? Before the others steal all the food and the hot water?"

"Maker's blessings go with you, Wardens," Mikhael called, as they trekked across the snow covered courtyard to the glowering stone building that was Warden's Keep.

Levi's sister, Rebecca, greeted them both with a smile as they entered the Great Hall, dusting her flour covered hands on her apron - Levi had clearly warned her about the sudden appearence of the Hero of River Dane amongst them, but unlike her brother she did not appear to be remotely disturbed by the presence of one of Ferelden's living legends. "Wardens, welcome home to the Keep, I'm sorry you will only be staying the one night. There's mutton stew and dumplings on the stove, it will be ready in a little less than an hour. Water for baths is boiling in the coppers at present, I think some of your companions have already beaten you to it there, so if the pair of you don't mind waiting till after supper to bathe, you will have the bathhouse to yourselves at that point. I've put you both in Sophia's old room, your elven companion said that would be acceptable?"

They exchanged glances. Muirnara was about to speak, Loghain forestalled her. "That is entirely acceptable, Mistress Rebecca, and our thanks. The stew smells delicious."

She dimpled at them both. "Oh, just one thing, can you possibly get one of your people to bathe that mabari before dinner? He's a lovely dog, but I don't know what he's found to roll in, whatever it is, the smell is a little...strong."

"I'll get someone to see to it." Muirnara promised. Rebecca smiled and excused herself. Muirnara turned to Loghain. "I am going to kill Zevran."

He raised an eyebrow. "And do you really want to let that elf needle you? I am more than capable of sleeping on the floor, as you very well know. I think it better that he does not get the satisfaction of knowing he got a reaction from you."

"Fair enough." A nasty little smile crossed Muirnara's face. "But for that bit of deliberate provocation, Zevran just got the job of bathing Wolf. And I hope he enjoys it."


	18. Chapter 18

The mutton stew turned out to be as excellent as it smelled, rich, tender, bursting with spices, as far away from their grey camp stews as silk from hessian. The dried fruit pastries that a beaming Rebecca produced afterwards were also delicious, and even Zevran, who had been sulking through most of the meal after having to bathe the Mabari, had relaxed enough to flirt with her as she brought the dessert platter in. Wolf, now clean and fluffy, had demolished two plates of the stew and was sprawled by the hearth chewing a large bone.

They had all eaten too much, and the combination of the good food, and the blissful hot baths had resulted in most people making their apologies early and vanishing to make the most of a night sleeping in a proper bed. Muirnara, combing her damp hair by the fire in Sophia's old chamber, would have given a lot to be able to do the same. She looked around the room, remembering the space as it had been when she saw it last - the dust and cobwebs of two centuries, the broken furniture, and the ghastly figure of Sophia herself, a possessed corpse animated by the will of a demon. Now, although not restored to the grandeur it had probably once possessed, there were clean rushes on the floor, the crude wooden double bed had a feather mattress and several quilts, and there were plain chairs by the fire and a small coffer chest. For a few moments she could shut her eyes and imagine being a Warden here in time of peace, with the keep humming with activity, and nothing worse to worry about than how the next group of recruits would manage when the time came for their Joining. She sighed and opened her eyes again. In time of peace, she would never have been a Warden at all, no sense dwelling on what could not be.

The door swung open and Loghain entered, dressed in a clean shirt and trousers but with his feet bare, and came over to join her by the fire, picking up the pair of boots he had left there earlier before disappearing to the bath house and feeling the oily leather. "Still damp. Good enough to get across to the tower and back, if it wasn't so cold out there I'd just go barefoot." He glanced at her. "What's on your mind?"

"Avernus," she confessed. "Truly, I would have rather never had to see him again. I know it is necessary. But...as I said to Levi, I think both mentally and physically he left his humanity behind a long time ago. My skin just crawls when I look at him, and remember what he did."

"Let's get this over with, then." He threw her wolf fur cloak at her, she caught it and drew it over her shoulders. "Ask him the questions we need to know, then get back here and have a decent night's sleep for once. The floor by the hearth, and a feather quilt to wrap myself in, will be luxury compared to the last weeks."

She nodded and got to her feet. "You're right. Let's get this over with"

The short walk along the battlements of the keep to Avernus's tower was quite amazingly cold. Probably, it was considerably warmer than Ostagar had been, but the contrast to the well heated bedroom was sharp, and both of them quickened their pace as they approached the tower door. As they passed it, the dim lights set around the walls seemed to brighten, though when looking at any single light it did not seem to change.

"Warden Commander." That was the voice of the old mage, a voice dry as the dust of forgotten years, as they entered the inner chamber. "A pleasure to see you again. If you have come to ask me about the results of the research, I am afraid I have little to show you, though I have some promising leads to work on." His eyes, glittering points in a wrinkled face, were observing Loghain as he glanced around the room. Muirnara found herself grateful for the fact that the corpses she had seen there last time were there no longer, she hoped they had been decently burned. Now the room more closely resembled the laboratories she had seen at the Circle Tower, with alchemical apparatus occupying some benches, several newer bookshelves stacked high with scrolls and a writing table covered in papers, closely written with spider scrawl.

"Senior Warden Avernus." She had no idea at all if that was the correct form of address, but it sounded appropriately formal. "No, I have not come to ask about the research, but to ask you about some events which were witnessed by Warden Loghain and myself less than a fortnight ago in the ruins of Ostagar, on the Blighted edge of the Korcari Wilds. To be honest, we think there is no one else in Ferelden who has any chance of giving us an answer, and we are far from certain that you can."

"You intrigue me." He drew two chairs nearer to his desk. "Warden Commander, Warden, please sit down. So what were these events?"

In turns, they told an abridged form of the journey to Ostagar, the untainted nature of the fortress and their deductions that fear must have kept the Darkspawn out. His eyebrows rose at their description of the strange Darkspawn at the Tower of Ishal, then when they spoke of the dragon landing, and its transformation into human form, he slammed a hand down on the desk. "Wardens, do you know just what you are describing?"

Muirnara shook her head. "The woman who the dragon became was known to me by the name of Flemeth. She was first introduced to me as the mother of one of our travelling companions - Morrigan. And to the best of our knowledge, she died several months ago, at the hands of myself and three of my companions, after we had learned of her intentions towards her 'daughter' - that Morrigan in all probability was not her child, but a foundling that she was rearing and training in magic, with the intent of using the grown woman to magically prolong her own life, by possession of her body."

Loghain took up the tale. "Thirty years ago, when Maric and I were outlaws and fleeing through the Korcari Wilds, we were taken by Dalish Elves, and brought by them to a hut in the Wilds, where we met the same woman. I never knew her name, the Dalish called her Asha'bellanar - the Woman of Many Years. She let us both go again - we never knew why, because it was clear from the surroundings of her hut that many others brought to her had met their deaths there. She prophesied to Maric that the Blight would come - amongst other prophecies." His mouth narrowed to a grim line and Muirnara wondered just what he was remembering.

"Morrigan initially told us that she believed her mother to be an abomination." Muirnara added. "Later on, she seemed less sure about that. When I had to tell her that the woman we thought we had killed was apparently alive and well she didn't even really seem surprised. She said that she had come to the conclusion that the woman she had thought of as her mother was in all probability not even human."

"The young lady is almost certainly correct." Avernus had walked over to the bookcase and sorted several scrolls out, laying them carefully on the desk. "Here is the first reference I can remember." He shook out a scroll and read from it.

**"Ages ago, legend says Bann Conobar took to wife a beautiful young woman who harbored a secret talent for magic: Flemeth of Highever. And for a time they lived happily, until the arrival of a young poet, Osen, who captured the lady's heart with his verse.**

**They turned to the Chasind tribes for help and hid from Conobar's wrath in the Wilds, until word came to them that Conobar lay dying: His last wish was to see Flemeth's face one final time.**

**The lovers returned, but it was a trap. Conobar killed Osen, and imprisoned Flemeth in the highest tower of the castle. In grief and rage, Flemeth worked a spell to summon a spirit into this world to wreak vengeance upon her husband. Vengeance, she received, but not as she planned. The spirit took possession of her, turning Flemeth into an abomination. A twisted, maddened creature, she slaughtered Conobar and all his men, and fled back into the Wilds**."

He looked up. "That is the first reference that I recall, and if it is true, then this Flemeth must be over three hundred years old, and the way that it is worded implies that the woman was initially human, and became an abomination through the practice of forbidden magery. But I personally would doubt that, because of the very nature of demonic possession."

"What do you mean?" Muirnara leaned forward.

"The human body is not designed to withstand the occupation of a spirit, good or evil. You have seen abominations, Warden Commander?"

"I have." With a grimace her mind was drawn back to the Circle Tower, and the misshapen, writhing, inhuman forms that had greeted them when they had fought their way into the Harrowing chamber. "But not all abominations lose their human shape...there was a boy at Redcliffe, Connor, possessed by a demon, and outwardly he seemed unchanged, but most of the time the demon spoke through him."

"Had he struck some sort of bargain with the demon?" Muirnara nodded. "That explains it, Commander. If the demon has taken full control of the mage, then the human form is lost very fast, as the will of the demon attempts to bend the flesh of the host to itself. If some sort of bargain has been struck, then the continued presence of the human soul within the body binds the flesh of the body to its human form. It does not prevent the possessed mage doing immense evil, but it constrains what the demon itself is capable of. But one thing cannot be achieved this way, and that is the prolongation of life. No matter what the bargain, the body will age and die as any other body will, and the demon eventually will be left in possession of an animated corpse. You saw that with Sophia."

Muirnara shuddered. "What we understood from Morrigan, is that Flemeth extended her life by some form of serial possession. The legends of the Witch of the Wilds state that she has had many daughters. Morrigan states that according to Flemeth's grimoire, what happens is that she rears a daughter, trains her in magic, and then when the daughter's powers are at their height, takes over the daughter's body and becomes her daughter-self. And that this pattern has now repeated itself many times."

Avernus nodded. "You say this companion of yours has Flemeth's grimoire? That is something I would very much like to see, Commander, if you would permit me. But anyway, we were discussing the nature of Flemeth. I can say categorically from what you have told me, that she is not human, possessed or otherwise, what you are describing is not a human power. So we have to consider what other possibilities there are, and that is why I asked you if you knew what you were describing, when you stated that her other form is that of a High Dragon."

Loghain seemed to be getting impatient at this. "Mage, assume that we are totally ignorant of the implications of our story, and kindly get to the point."

Avernus tutted under his breath. "Very well. The Shapeshifter talent is one of the rarest forms of magic, and one that was almost totally ignored by the Circle of Magi for centuries. But it is common in two groups of magic users, the Keepers of the Dalish Elves, and the shamans of the Korcari wilderfolk. And both the Dalish and the Chasind have a statistically far higher number of magic users in their numbers than any other ethnic group on Thedas. And there is a good reason for this."

"Which is?" Muirnara seemed to have overcome her revulsion and was now listening to the mage with open fascination.

"Because the Chantry has created the seeds of its own destruction. By its restrictive and frequently brutal treatment of mages, its policy of tearing children from their families if found to have magical ability, and its mistreatment of those children as adults by keeping them in what amounts to little more than slavery, no matter how gilded the chains, it has created a situation where subtle disobedience has become the norm. A very pious family, be they city elves or humans, will indeed surrender their child to the Chantry to be taken to the Circle, and console themselves that they are 'doing the Maker's will'. But any other family, if they have the intelligence to make a few quiet inquiries will discover fast that there is an alternative to selling their child into indentured servitude for life. For centuries in Ferelden, there has been a secret and silent progression of elven children with magic taken out of the Alienages and to the Dalish clans, and human children with magic to the Chasind. Both groups receive such children with delight and love, place them with foster families and train them to become keepers and shamans. And because of the great numbers of such children, and the lack of restriction on training and experimentation with magic in these groups, whole schools of magic have developed there that the Circle has little or no knowledge of. And one of those schools is Shapeshifting."

"I see." Loghain had been following this with interest. "That explains a lot, mage, about why the forays that have been made against the Chasind and the Dalish have in general been remarkably unsuccessful. We have fed them their weapons by our own bad judgement."

"I could not have put it better. Anyway, returning to the school of Shapeshifting. You may already know that a mage who wishes to learn to take the form of another creature, will do so by prolonged study of that creature, over months or even years - another reason why it cannot be taught in the Circle Tower, unless one wanted to shapeshift solely to rat form! A Chasind shaman who wishes to take the form of a wolf will study wolves in packs for many seasons, listen to their language, observe their hunts and their mating, and their social interactions, until she knows them in the blood and in the bone and can attempt then to take their form. But how would one gain that sort of knowledge of a dragon?"

"You have a point." Muirnara cupped her chin in her hand. "There was a village of dragon cultists in the Frostbacks we came across, but the dragon there was the only one that has been seen in Ferelden in centuries. Certainly there has never been one known of in the Korcari Wilds."

"Agreed. Therefore we must look at another possibility. It has been speculated for many years that some - perhaps not all, but certainly some - High Dragons had the power of human speech, and were able to communicate with the cultists that they surrounded themselves with." He lifted another scroll. "This is Brother Florian's Flame and Scale, his study of dragon cults. Listen to this."

**"How, then, does one explain the existence of so-called "dragon cults" throughout history?**

**One dragon cult might be explainable, especially in light of the reverence of the Old Gods in the ancient Tevinter Imperium. In the wake of the first Blight, many desperate imperial citizens turned to the worship of real dragons to replace the Old Gods who had failed them. A dragon, after all, was a god-figure that they could see: It was there, as real as the archdemon itself, and, as evidence makes clear, did offer a degree of protection to its cultists.**

**Other dragon cults could be explained in light of the first. Some cult members might have survived and spread the word. The worship of the Old Gods was as widespread as the Imperium itself-certainly such secrets could have made their way into many hands. But there have been reports of dragon cults even in places where the Imperium never touched, among folks who had never heard of the Old Gods or had any reason to. How does one explain them?**

**Members of a dragon cult live in the same lair as a high dragon, nurturing and protecting its defenseless young. In exchange, the high dragon seem to permit those cultists to kill a small number of those young in order to feast on draconic blood. That blood is said to have a number of strange long-term effects, including bestowing greater strength and endurance, as well as an increased desire to kill. It may breed insanity as well. Nevarran dragon-hunters have said these cultists are incredibly powerful opponents. The changes in the cultists are a form of blood magic, surely, but how did the symbiotic relationship between the cult and the high dragon form in the first place? How did the cultists know to drink the dragon's blood? How did the high dragon convince them to care for its young, or know that they would?**

**Is there more to draconic intelligence than we have heretofore guessed at? No member of a dragon cult has ever been taken alive, and what accounts exist from the days of the Nevarran hunters record only mad rants and impossible tales of godhood. With dragons only recently reappearing and still incredibly rare, we may never know the truth, but the question remains."**

He lowered the scroll. "Intelligence, speech...what else were dragons capable of? Magic? There are endless stories, if no direct evidence, that some high dragons had magical ability, it has been suggested that some of the knowledge of the magisters of the Tevinter Imperium was dragon taught."

Muirnara nodded slowly. "So you are saying..."

"I am saying, Commander, that you have to look at the possibility that this is not a human who has studied dragons for long enough to take their shape. This is a dragon, who has studied humans for long enough to take human form."


	19. Chapter 19

Muirnara's mind seemed to be whirling in circles.

_A dragon. A dragon who has been studying us. A dragon who can take a human form._

They were silent for a few minutes considering this. Then Loghain spoke. "Be she human, dragon, or demon from the Black City itself, she is beyond our reach. So what difference is it going to make to us?"

"All the difference in the world, possibly." Avernus sat back. "Because we now have to consider her companion - this strange Darkspawn who appears rational and who talks. There, I can be of little help to you. I have never heard of any reference to a talking darkspawn, over and above the few broken words of taunting that occasionally come from the lips of an emissary. But bear in mind that my knowledge of things that have happened in more recent times is poor. My contact with the outside world since the fall of the Keep has been by its very nature limited. I have only one thing that may bear on this, and it was written several hundred years ago - and even then was only a prophecy. So it may mean something, or nothing." He got up from his chair and went to one of the bookshelves. It seemed to take him a very long time to find what he was looking for, and the scroll with which he eventually returned was so faded and brittle that he did not even attempt to unroll it with his fingers, instead using a couple of glass rods from the alchemy racks.

"This," he said, "was a written record of speech uttered by a Warden at Weisshaupt, an elven mage. He was considered insane more or less from the time of his Joining, and his madness worsened as his Calling approached. But they kept records of his ravings, because it was discovered early that some of what he said was prophetic - what was less easy to work out was which parts were prophecy and which parts were insanity. Generally the prophecies were only identified after the events that they foretold had already come to pass, rendering them pretty useless." He ran the glass rod down the page. "Ah...this is the part I remember. Listen to this."

" _In the days of the Dragon, thrice damned child of a seven times damned brood,_

_there shall arise amongst the voiceless in the darkness_

_one who is cursed with a voice_

_and he shall cry out to drown the terrible silence that only he hears._

_And the Dragon shall be his companion, and the Dragon shall be his undoing_

_and he shall seek to lead the voiceless from their darkness_

_and shall make himself but the architect of their destruction_

_and both Dragons shall name him betrayer_ "

He muttered, peering closer at the scroll. "I cannot be certain, Wardens, that that is exactly what it says. The writing is poor to begin with, and the preservation of the scroll is worse, and this is a copy - the original is still held in Weisshaupt. But I saw the original, long ago, and I do not believe it differed greatly from this."

Loghain raised an eyebrow. "So now we are looking for guidance from the ravings of a madman, in the forlorn hope that this was one of the moments when he was not actually talking gibberish. Forgive me, mage, if I do not put the greatest credence in this as a guide to our future actions."

Avernus raised his eyebrows. "You may scoff if you wish, Warden. You are asking me to piece together the shards of a broken mosaic in a black room by the light of one candle, with half the pieces missing. All I can do is place in the light anything that might seem to be part of the pattern, in the hopes that together with other pieces some sense may be made. If you have a better idea I would be delighted to hear it."

"Loghain, please." Muirnara touched his arm.

"I hear you, mage." Loghain ignored Muirnara. "But in the absence of several weeks or months to clarify this in scholarly debate, you will have to give us a best guess as to this mosaic. After all," he smiled grimly, "should you get it wrong, it is entirely probable that neither of us will live to tell you your mistake. So guess for us."

Avernus frowned. "A best guess. Very well. We are passing here into the realms of pure speculation now, but as long as you understand that much... My first hypothesis then is about the nature of the Old Gods of the Tevinter Imperium, that they were not the deities that the Tevinter believed them to be, nor were they simply the High Dragons that the Chantry would have us believe. I believe that they were indeed dragons initially, but dragons who through their study of magic and their penetration of the Fade had become something more than mortal - for a dragon is indeed mortal, as you well know, Warden Commander. Here we must go back to the scrolls again. I direct you to this - "The Old Gods rise again", by the Chantry scholar Sister Mary, written in the Blessed Age." He unrolled the scroll and read from it.

**"Scholars assume that the Old Gods must indeed have been real at one point, but most agree that they were likely actual dragons-ancient high dragons of a magnitude not known today, and impressive enough to frighten ancient peoples into worshipping them. Some even claim that these dragons slumber as a form of hibernation, not as a result of the Maker's wrath.**

**Regardless of the truth, legend maintains that even from their underground prisons, the Old Gods were able to whisper into the minds of men. The Archon Thalsian, first of the Magisters, who claimed to have contacted the Old God Dumat, used the blood magic Dumat taught to him to attain incredible power in Tevinter and declare himself the ruler of an Empire. In return, he established the first temples worshipping the Old Gods, and the dragons became equated everywhere with imperial power.**

**To date, four of the Old Gods are said to have risen as corrupted archdemons: Dumat, the first and most powerful, was slain at the Battle of Silent Fields. Zazikel fell at the Battle of Starkhaven, Toth died at the Battle of Hunter Fell, and Andoral was felled by Garahel, the legendary Grey Warden, at the Battle of Ayesleigh. The archdemons have been identified only after years of argument among scholars, and to this day it is unclear whether the archdemons were truly Old Gods and not simply dragons. All that is known is that the darkspawn hunt for them deep underground. If they are truly the Old Gods, as many scholars believe, then we have only three Blights remaining. When all the Old Gods have risen and been slain, however, what will happen? Will the Blights end forever, and humanity earn forgiveness from the Maker at last? We shall see."**

He snorted. "Typical Chantry wishful thinking at its best. There were only seven Old Gods, four of them risen as Archdemons - five now, of course, therefore once the seven have all risen we will have no more blights. Rubbish. It totally ignores the possibility, that if seven High Dragons in the past have achieved this quasi-godhood, then there is nothing whatsoever preventing other dragons from doing so in the future. Or indeed they may have already done so."

Muirnara found her mouth was dry, she swallowed convulsively and asked, "And Flemeth?"

"We cannot know for sure, Warden Commander, but we have to consider the possibility that she indeed has reached that point in her evolution. Tell me this. When you encountered her in the ruins of Ostagar, this couple of sevendays ago, could you detect the Taint in her?"

"Definitely not." Loghain was adamant. "She was untainted. Both of us were certain of this."

"That is even more interesting. You described her as taking the hand of this Tainted darkspawn. You are certain that she remained untainted even after this."

"I am certain. In as far as either of us could tell, she remained clean."

"Very well then, we must now look at a passage which is probably known to both of you from the Chant of Light - Threnodies 8:7

**"In Darkness eternal they searched,**

**For those who had goaded them on,**

**Until at last they found their prize,**

**Their god, their betrayer:**

**The sleeping dragon Dumat. Their taint**

**Twisted even the false-god, and the whisperer**

**Awoke at last, in pain and horror, and led**

**Them to wreak havoc upon all the nations of the world:**

**The first Blight."**

Avernus recited the passage from memory with his eyes closed. Then he opened them again and gazed at the two Wardens. "This at least is accurate. To the best of the Grey Warden knowledge, the darkspawn search constantly for the sleeping Old Gods. When they find them, the touch of the Darkspawn instantly corrupts the Old God and it rises as an Archdemon. Therefore either Flemeth is in some way protected from this - or this Darkspawn is different from all others of his kind."

Loghain considered. "So you are saying that what you believe we have now is a tainted Old God, risen as an Archdemon, and that he is actually in some way being opposed by an untainted Old God, and a new form of Darkspawn."

"That is my reading of the facts as you have presented them to me. But as usual, it is not that simple. The Prophecy implies firstly that this Darkspawn will fail in whatever he is attempting, and that both Flemeth and the Archdemon will consider in the end that he betrayed them. Secondly, his words to you at Ostagar - that "events had progressed too fast to prevent this turn of the wheel" suggests to me at least that whatever his intentions later, he will not do anything to oppose the Archdemon and the horde at this point. So set aside his alliance with Flemeth, and you are faced with what the Grey Wardens were created for, all this time ago. To slay an Archdemon." He watched them both carefully. "And there is something that I believe nobody has told either of you, because you have both been without the mentorship of an older Warden, as you would have been in time of peace. And from what you have told me, you have had little time to converse with this Orlesian Warden, Riordan. Am I right in saying that you do not know why it has to be a Warden that slays an Archdemon?"

"That is correct." Muirnara looked at Avernus.

"I assumed," Loghain added, "that it was pure fiction. Now, from what you have told us, I am assuming it has something to do with the taint in our blood."

"You are correct." Avernus studied them both, and the look on his face was strange. It might even be said to be pity, and this alone frightened Muirnara more than anything that had happened already.

"When an archdemon is slain, if the blow is struck by anyone other than a Grey Warden, the essence of the Archdemon instantly seeks out the nearest tainted target. Under normal circumstances, this will be the nearest Darkspawn. A darkspawn is a soulless husk, it will immediately be possessed by the soul of the Archdemon and arise as the Archdemon itself. The Archdemon therefore to all intents and purposes cannot be slain. But - if the blow is taken by a Grey Warden, who also bears the Taint, then the soul of the Archdemon is drawn into the body of the Grey Warden who struck the blow and a Grey Warden is not a soulless husk, he or she has a soul. If the body as I told you is not designed to cope with the occupation of a demon, then it is utterly incapable of coping with the occupation of two souls. Both the Archdemon, and the Warden are destroyed, utterly."

The words fell like hammer blows. They were all silent.

Avernus eventually broke the silence. "And that, Warden Commander, is why I am asking your permission to accompany you when you leave Soldier's Peak."

"What?"

"By tradition, Commander, it is the Warden who is closest to his Calling that takes that blow, if it is possible for him to do so. In Ferelden, that would be me."

"Avernus..." Muirnara was rendered almost speechless.

"Warden Commander." Avernus's voice could almost be said to be pleading now. "I am an old man, and I have lived lifetimes past the span allotted to me. And I am still a Grey Warden, and this is a Blight. I am asking you to permit me to take the death that should have been mine long ago."

She studied his face as though she had never seen it before. Then finally, she shook her head. "No, Avernus. Hear me out. Should we fail - you are the only Warden remaining in Ferelden. And you have knowledge of the Joining ritual. We have brought with us here to the Peak the last of the Archdemon blood that was stored in the compound in Denerim. I am leaving you now with a clear order. In the event that we fail, you will leave the Keep, with the assistance of the Drydens. I will also leave sealed orders for them to cover this eventuality. You will invoke the Right of Conscription on anyone - and I mean anyone - whom you find, that you believe has a chance of surviving the Joining. It may indeed be that by that point there will be little enough to save. But you are the only fallback position that I can possibly set up, and you will not disobey me in this. You will hold whatever line can be held, with hope, or without it, until your death, or until Wardens from outside the borders come to your aid. If it is possible, I will take that deathblow upon the Archdemon myself. But if all else fails - this falls to you."

Now Avernus was the one studying Muirnara almost in disbelief. Then he bowed to her in profound respect, ignoring Loghain, and the anger that was clear on his face. "Warden Commander, it shall be as you have directed."

She returned the bow, and walked out of the room, Loghain behind her, a silent, furious shadow.


	20. Chapter 20

Neither of them spoke through the short walk back across to the Keep, and through the dim Great Hall, the only lighting there from the banked fire. Sophia's chamber was still a warm glow of firelight and candlelight, and Muirnara noticed that somebody had come in, turned down the quilts on the bed and left a large pitcher of hot spiced wine in the fender. Loghain had also noticed the wine and took the pitcher to fill the two cups on the table. "Here," he said, handing her one of them. "This has not been the sort of news tonight that is best dealt with sober." The anger on his face had subsided, taken over by a terrible weariness.

She cupped her hands around her wine, and sighed. "I wonder at what point Riordan had planned to tell me this particular little secret of the Grey Wardens. Or maybe he assumed that Duncan had told me."

"We spoke before about how blind the Grey Wardens are about keeping secrets, that they hide all the things that are most important, and they hide them from the people who most need to know." Loghain had turned to collect his own cup. "Did it never occur to anyone in the whole command structure of this bloody stupid organisation, that it was actually necessary for those in charge of the armies of a nation to know just why a Grey Warden is needed to slay an archdemon? That it might affect tactics and decisions? But oh, no, the secrecy of the order comes before anything." He took a mouthful of the spiced wine. "Idiots. And worse than idiots. If we had known this before Ostagar..."

"What would you have done, Loghain?" Muirnara drank half of her own wine cup at one long draught, wincing at the gritty traces of spices. "Cailan would still have had his dreams of glory, it would never have occurred to him that he was actually going to lose. He would still have insisted on riding into battle in the front line, beside the Wardens, and events would have played out no differently. All you might have been able to do is insist that a few more Wardens were kept back from the fray, and since the Wardens were outside your command, Duncan could have refused anyway. We might still have been sitting here now facing exactly the same thing. The only real difference is that we might not have been sworn enemies for over a year before it happened."

"Well, it explains one thing." Loghain came over to the fireplace to take the other chair. "It explains why Riordan wanted to conscript me at the Landsmeet. I had my death sentence anyway, what matter if it was postponed a few weeks while he tracked down the whereabouts of my executioner and the horde it was leading."

"Loghain, that isn't true." Muirnara was goaded into defending the Orlesian Warden. "He stated - and he was right - that you were a great general, and a great soldier, and that the Wardens recruit those that they need, from the executioner's block if need be. Duncan was recruited that way himself, he told me. "

"Was he?" That raised one of Loghain's eyebrows. "That explains a few things...well, no matter. But, Muirnara, if you think that I am going to stand by and watch you take that blow, then you are an even poorer judge of character than that whelp of Maric was, and it was clear at the Landsmeet exactly what he thought of me."

Her name. The first time that he had used it since Ostagar. He was watching her closely. "In the finest of Warden traditions then, my girl, you recruited a condemned felon from the block in the time of Blight. Why then would you want to take the blow yourself? When you have a tool to your hand that is so eminently expendable?"

The wine was working its subtle wiles, warmth from her head down to her toes, but seemingly unable to touch the knot of ice in her stomach which had formed there at Avernus's news. "Because enough is enough." Her words were little more than a whisper. "Sometimes there just has to be an ending."

An echo of his own words to her at the camp, only a few weeks ago. Somehow they seemed to her to be half a lifetime. She stared into the flames. Loghain's voice came from somewhere behind her. "It isn't a good enough answer, girl. I have thought you many things in the last year, but until now I never thought you selfish."

And that accusation shocked her out of her reverie, she turned to him, with her eyes sparking with anger. "How dare you?"

"Oh, so there is still some life there. I was wondering."

_That half smile on his face. That half smile that has nothing to do with amusement, that was curving the corners of his mouth when he knelt at my feet watching my blade at the Landsmeet. Waiting, pleading for that deathstroke, without words._

She stood up and stalked towards the door, hardly knowing what she was doing, span on her heel at the doorway and regarded him. "So explain to me why you accuse me of selfishness, Loghain Mac Tir. This should be good."

He set his own cup down on the table. "Would you prefer I accused you of cowardice instead? I could probably make just as good a case for that."

That finally goaded her past endurance. She sprang at him, hardly knowing what she was doing, to find both her wrists trapped in iron hands. Struggling produced bruises on both wrists, but did not regain her an inch of freedom. And he was laughing - laughing! How dare he! Laughing, while he held her prisoner, less than a foot away from him, a bitter, mirthless laugh.

"Now, that's more the Warden I knew. Self pity is not an emotion that sits well on you." His voice was gentler, but immovable. "And you will permit me to be the one to take that blow." It was not a question, but a statement.

"Why?" Her voice was little more than a whisper.

"Because you are not a coward. And because you are not selfish."

Her head hung, she did not attempt to meet his eyes. "I don't understand."

He guided her down to sit on the edge of the bed, came to sit beside her, without releasing her hands. "You told me, Warden, that we take our deaths when the Joining chalice is handed to us, that some of us pay the price then, and some of us pay it later, but from that day we are dead men walking. I nodded to you, and did not bother to tell you that I was entirely familiar with the concept. It was not until much later than I realised that you were no stranger to it either, and that it had little to do with the Joining cup. You had been seeking death over and over, and it danced just out of your reach each time. And yet the girl who faced me at the Landsmeet did not fight like a woman looking for death. There were a dozen times in that duel where a tiny slip of your defences would have given you the oblivion that you hoped for, but you fought still."

She was silent at that for a long time. "If you had won that duel, you would have ordered Alistair's execution and probably Riordan's, and you would have damned this country, without ever knowing that you had done so. No matter how much my own death would have come as a blessing that day, I couldn't allow you to do that. I had lost Alistair, no matter how that day fell. I had talked both Alistair and Anora into the idea of a political marriage, that was unlikely to make either of them happy, but was necessary. I had made Alistair think there might be hope for us even if he married her, and I had known that there could not be. I wanted to die, but not at the price of making everything I had fought for meaningless."

"I know that - now." His voice was surprisingly gentle. "I think that was when I first started to see you clearly, that you were my reflection in a dark mirror. That you, a slip of a girl, had learned what I had learned many years before, to set one goal, the survival of a nation, in your sights, and then to sacrifice everything else in pursuit of that goal. You also knew what it meant to lose a family, then to give up the person you had grown to love, to let each thing go, one by one, like leaves on a winter wind, because the goal was so important that nothing else mattered but that."

Her shoulders slumped, the fight seemed to have gone from her. "Then if you can understand all that, why can you not understand why I have to take that blow myself?"

"I can understand, Muirnara, why you would want to. I can even hear your justification for it in your mind, that you cannot ask someone to do what you are not prepared to do yourself. Bryce Cousland taught you very well, that famous Cousland sense of responsibility has come out strongly in you. It has made you an excellent leader - the group that you drew together over the past year and a half shows that. Misfits, who should have been at each other's throats like cats and dogs, and somehow you bound them into a whole that was greater than the sum of their parts, and with them you raised a whole nation to follow you."

He was silent for a moment. "You inspire love, Muirnara. It is a gift that you were not taught, it comes from that wellspring of generosity in you. You look on people and see them as more than they are, and somehow they then become more than they are indeed, because they cannot bring themselves to reject your vision of them. Even the assassin I sent after you ended up falling in love with you, and that was the last outcome I ever foresaw for that. I disliked the idea of bringing in the Crows in the first place, it was one of the earliest mistakes that I made in that year and it was certainly not the last mistake. But if I saw an outcome to that at all, it would have been that either the Crow would have achieved his goal and killed you, or that you would have overmatched the assassin and slain him. I did not foresee that you would defeat him, and then recruit him, and that then he would fall in love with you. But I did not know you at all well then. Now, I have come to know you, and I can see that there was no other possible outcome."

She shook her head, as if to deny his words. "You still don't understand."

"Oh, I do, Muirnara. I understand very well indeed. Now, finally, you have been offered that seductive death-cup in an almost irresistable form. The chance to die for the nation you have fought me to save. No guilt, no regrets, no more intolerable burdens, no more having to look back and second-guess the terrible choices you had to make." There was pain in his words. "And now I am going to take that peace away from you, by an appeal to that generosity. I have done so many things wrong. I am asking you to allow me to do this one last thing right. And I am well aware that by asking it of you, I am leaving you the harder task - to rebuild a land afterwards. Because you are young, and you have the time left and the strength to do it. The nobles will follow you, because of what you did, and because of who you are, youngest child of a lost line that has fought for Ferelden so many times before. The Bannorn and the commoners will also follow you as Bryce's daughter, taking up a father's mantle to lead them. The Dalish will follow you because of what you did for them, saving one of their clans from the werewolf curse, or indeed saving them from themselves if they are honest enough to admit it. The city elves will follow you because you delivered them from slavery. They will all set you on a pedestal - and you will allow them to, because they need their young, beautiful hero to show them what is possible even in the worst darkness."

He had called her his dark mirror. Now he was making himself a mirror for her. And he had spoken the truth, out of that deep well of bitter honesty that was his core. She gazed at him, tried to speak, and then broke down into tears, and as once before, he held her, releasing her wrists and slipping his arm around her, letting her storm of weeping pass while he cradled her against his shoulder.

"Nothing makes the losses good," he told her, a soft murmur of words half lost in her hair, his cheek pillowed on the top of her head. "But if the gods are kind, they finally draw a line that you can defend, and that line has been drawn tonight. They show you the ultimate sacrifice that can end the battle, and then the road to rebuilding starts. And you will find many times on that road that joy will be there, unlooked for, in the strangest places you ever sought to find it. And that love will be there, because of your ability to inspire it, in the least likely people. And when you return to Denerim after the Archdemon has fallen, and they are naming you the Hero of Ferelden, and every young blood in the Bannorn is lining up to dance with you at a victory ball, then you may remember, with a wry smile, that you even made this bitter old man love you, who had once sought your death - and that if you could do that then very little should be impossible for you."

She looked up at him with wonder in her eyes, he softly kissed her forehead. "Oh yes, Muirnara, I was no more immune to you than anyone else. Do you remember I told you once that I had approached your father with a view to marriage?"

She nodded and reached a hand up to touch his cheek, her eyes still wet with tears. "I remember."

"If the world had been different, you might have been my wife. And you might have gone the whole length of that marriage never really knowing what I felt for you, or whether there was anything more to the union than politics. Now you are sitting here, in the arms of a condemned man, and I have nothing to give you, no title, or land, or political advantage. Only the knowledge that despite everything, I loved you. And the only gift that you can give me is death, and it is the greatest gift you could offer. Do not begrudge your generosity, not now, not in time to come."

She closed her eyes but the tears still trickled out from under the closed lids, he kissed them away. He held her, rocking her against him as he might have soothed a crying child, whispering wordless comfort. There came a point where he realised that she had fallen asleep, the boneless, limp sleep of exhaustion and he eased them both back to lie on the bed, staring into the darkness as one by one the candles failed, and the fire died down, her warm weight in his arms the last anchor to reality as sleep overtook him too.

Many hours later, a light tap on the door failed to rouse either of them. The tap came again and then the door quietly opened, and Zevran's head was framed in the dim light of the hall. The assassin's eyes took in the scene, the empty wine cups, the two Wardens asleep on the bed still fully clothed and in each other's arms, he cast his eyes to heaven, and shook his head, but with a smile on his face. Then, very very quietly, he closed the door again and left them.


	21. Interlude - Late Watch III

One half day's march would see them at Redcliffe Village, and Muirnara had seriously considered keeping them moving through the night. Loghain had objected, pointing out that an arrival tired, and an attempt to fight a battle against unknown numbers in the small hours of the morning made little sense. They had compromised on six hours sleep and a predawn start. Sten and Wolf had taken the first three hour watch, Morrigan and Zevran had ended up with the second.

Zevran had proved harder to wake than usual and Wolf had eventually roused the elf with a flying leap onto the bedroll and a forcible face wash with a long wet tongue. Zevran, spluttering pushed the Mabari away. "My friend, just because I assisted you in bathing at the Keep does not mean that I wish you to reciprocate!" Wolf just wagged his stumpy tail, and Zevran muttered something under his breath and went to join Morrigan who was watching from beside the firepit with her habitual sly smile.

She appeared to have something on her mind as they walked the perimeter of the camp together. "So, Zevran. Your wonderful attempts at matchmaking at the keep, tis clear, did not have quite the effect that you anticipated?"

He shrugged. "Those two...I found them a private room, and a feather bed, and wine, and solitude, and what do they do? Sleep in each other's arms, fully clothed." He wrinkled his nose. "And how am I rewarded for my services? By being asked to bathe a Mabari hound whose odour resembled the slaughterhouse district of Antiva City, on the hottest day in summer. No, that is unfair. The Mabari smelled considerably worse than that."

"My heart truly bleeds for you." Morrigan's sarcasm dripped off her tongue. "Tell me, elf, does the Antivan language have a direct parallel for that well known Ferelden proverb "to flog a dead horse?" by any chance?"

He raised his eyebrows at her. "You think so? Watch the pair of them. Just watch. When he thinks he is not observed, he is her shadow, his eyes rarely leave her. He foresees a dozen things in a day that might distress her, and he moves them away from her before she ever knows that they were there. When she thinks he is not looking at her, her eyes follow him with a yearning that frankly she never showed to Alistair. And yet, in the last few days when we have been in the tunnels, they have barely spoken a word to each other, and their bedrolls are set at opposite ends of our camps. If I thought the attraction between them was purely sexual, then there are a dozen ways that this might have come to a satisfactory conclusion by now. But it is not. They love each other. And that is a whole new game that I do not touch lightly."

"Oh, is that so?" Morrigan's retort seemed almost absent minded, there was clearly something else occupying her thoughts. He glanced once at her sharply, but his voice was light as usual when he answered her.

"My dear, I was born in a whorehouse, and raised by assassins. Sex, and death, are no mysteries to me. But love...love is a book written on sheets of cobweb with a pen dipped in the heart's blood. I do not dare even open the book to read the first page."

"How poetic." Morrigan snarled. It seemed her thoughts were not improving her temper.

He raised his eyebrows. "Surely you did not have designs on the ex-Teyrn yourself? My dear Morrigan, while the man has indeed a brooding charm, surely your options are not so limited as..."

"That is quite enough!" She turned away, looking out into the darkness.

He laughed. "Or was it our lovely Warden that you were eyeing and none of us ever knew. Really, my dear Morrigan, you are indeed a dark horse. Or perhaps I should have suspected when you first refused my advances, that you were one who prefers the company of her own sex?"

She whirled round. "Just because someone has better things to do than share your bed, Zevran, does not mean that they reject the entire of your gender. Tis merely you as their representative."

"Oh? I am wounded." The elf was now openly sniggering. "So I return to my earlier suggestion that you had an eye on Loghain, and now your plans have been foiled."

Morrigan sniffed and looked away from him. "You have no idea, elf. Whatever plans I might have had, they certainly did not include unrequited love for Loghain, so put that far from your tiny mind."

"I never suggested that you loved him. Merely that your eye was on him for...other reasons?"

"You are quite impossible!" She threw her hands up and stalked away.

Zevran's laughter followed her. "My dear, if ever I saw a lady protesting too much..."

Morrigan's sniff could be clearly heard as she disappeared into the darkness.


	22. Chapter 22

Somehow any time they came to Redcliffe, fate appeared to dictate that they arrived in the middle of a howling disaster. This appeared to be no exception to that rule.

_How on earth did we manage to get all this so wrong? Well, you could say we were right - but we were wrong too._

They had been greeted as they emerged from the tunnels leaving Soldier's Keep, by a hawk which spiraled down to the ground and became Morrigan - as with earlier visits to and from the Peak, she had refused to spend days underground and had preferred to fly. This time she had brought them news that Redcliffe village was under attack by Darkspawn. They had got to the village as fast as they could, only to discover that the numbers of spawn were remarkably small, and swiftly dispatched. And then when they had gained access to the castle, they had discovered that worse news was to come.

_Ostagar. I just knew we were ignoring something we needed to look at. And the five of us trekking off down there showed us nothing. We should have kept scouts in the Korcari Wilds. We should have made use of the Chasind. We should..._

Muirnara rubbed her temples with her fingers and tried to focus on what Riordan was telling them. It wasn't easy, because Eamon was interrupting the Orlesian Warden roughly every two minutes, and Anora every minute. But the gist of it was clear. The Archdemon had indeed emerged somewhere in the vicinity of Ostagar, but for reasons unknown had turned first south and then east, through the Uncharted Territories and up through the Brecilian Passage, bypassing Gwaren but fouling large tracts of the Brecilian Forest. The place that none of the Denerim strategists had expected it to appear, the last direction in which anyone had expected it to travel. And now the horde was two days from Denerim, and Denerim was held only by a small garrison. They would be outnumbered ten to one.

_Why on earth did we muster here? At Redcliffe? Why did we not leave at least a decent force on the north east coast? How did we predict this so badly? Why didn't I..._

"Enough." The voice was Loghain's, low and quiet, accompanied by a warm hand over her clenched fists. She had not realised that she had been speaking under her breath. "This serves for nothing." Thankfully, it appeared that he was the only one who had heard her. He gave her a warning glance then turned his attention to Anora and Eamon. "Who commands Denerim's defences?"

"Ser Cauthrien." It was Anora who answered. The swift glance she gave to Loghain and Muirnara showed that she had noticed the interchange between the two of them, there was a hint of amusement in that calm smile which rarely left her face. "She has the Fort Drakon garrison and about half a cohort of mixed infantry. Many of those however are raw recruits, or veterans pulled out of retirement at short notice."

Loghain's shoulders slumped, but Muirnara now knew him well enough to realise that there was a degree of relief in that rather than despair. "Thank the Maker for that at least. If there is one woman in Thedas who might be able to hold at least part of the city against ten to one odds, then that woman is Cauthrien. Now, what has already been done to try to get more troops there quickly?" The Arl of Redcliffe frowned and opened his mouth, Loghain interrupted him. "Eamon, I know you're going to tell me that we can't move the main army there fast enough, but any forces we can get to them at speed might buy us a day, or two days."

It was Riordan who answered. "As soon as the Dalish became aware of the direction in which the horde was moving, they turned their own troops north rather than trying to bring them to Redcliffe. So the Dalish archers will get there ahead of us, but not by much. Keeper Lanaya gave them orders that they were to harry the horde on its route north - they are lightly armoured and poorly equipped for pitched battles, but with those ironbark longbows they can inflict hit-and-run damage out of all proportion to their numbers. Anything they can do to reduce the overall disaster heading for Denerim is welcome, but it will not save the city."

Anora took up the tale. The smile on her face was odd, it might even be considered to be...pride? "Alistair left for Denerim yesterday, with a muster of any troops we could mount. We have stripped every farm of its riding and draft horses for twenty-five miles, but that only mounted about a hundred and fifty. Another drop in the ocean, really."

Loghain raised an eyebrow. "Whose idea was that?"

"Alistair's actually." Anora laughed, a tense sound. "His actual words were that he never wanted to be king of this bloody country, but if he had to be king of this bloody country, then by Andraste's arse he was going to act like it. Oh, he came out with that in front of the Redcliffe Revered Mother. I don't think she's got over it yet."

Muirnara and Loghain exchanged a glance. "I've never heard Alistair swear." Muirnara commented. "Let alone blaspheme."

Loghain eyed his daughter. "I think I might have misjudged that boy to some extent. There's clearly more of Maric in him than I thought there was."

"There's certainly very little of Cailan." That note of pride was back in Anora's voice. "We've...well, we talked a lot over the last few days. Waiting for the news to come in, waiting for you to come back to Redcliffe, waiting for Riordan to get here. There wasn't much else to do but talk."

Muirnara found herself studying Anora. There was the pride, there was that little curve to the mouth, there was even a hint of affection in the tone of voice. Somehow she was starting to think that the Alistair-Anora match might turn out to be not just a political one. Those two appeared to have come to some sort of understanding since the Landsmeet.

_And it doesn't hurt any more. It ought to. That this other woman clearly understood him so much better than I did, that he seems to have found a degree of peace with her in these few weeks. Should I be jealous? Angry? Upset? All I can feel at present is this feeling of bitter relief that he isn't as unhappy as I feared. Maybe he still hates me, but somehow, now, I can live with that._

Eamon seemed to be making an effort to take charge of the conversation again. "Some of the Orzammar troops have left to enter the Deep Roads near the Circle Tower. They intend to make contact with the Legion of the Dead units patrolling this side of Ortan Thaig. They are gambling that with the Archdemon now having shown itself on the surface, that the Deep Roads are likely to be almost clear, and that it would make more sense to move the Legion units that you talked into joining us underground than bringing them through Orzammar and then a march on the surface. But they have left roughly two thirds of their number with us, their commander stated that if the gamble works, they can cut a day off their journey time to Denerim, if the gamble doesn't work then they will take as many Darkspawn as they can with them, but in all probability none of them will ever come out again, and they did not intend to risk any more numbers than that."

"Fair enough." Loghain had taken a scrap of paper and a quill from a side table and was sketching a rough map, marking movements on it with arrows. "How about the Bannorn?"

"Most of the Bannorn skilled levies were killed at Ostagar. Some of the new recruits under Cauthrien are from West Hill and other areas now Blighted. The one real ray of hope is Bann Alfstanna who has sent a unit of trained archers, and longbows enough to equip a hundred more. Too many of the Banns are sitting on their hands, pleading too few numbers to strip their lands of the last defence." Teagan had taken up the tale, and his disgust for his fellow Banns was clear in his voice. "Cowards and fools. If they think their handful of household guards and untrained farmers will save them if the Archdemon arrives on their doorstep." He paused for a moment to listen to himself. "No, that's unfair. They are frightened men, and many of them are the heirs of men and women who died at Ostagar, thrust into their parents' places ill prepared and ill trained. But we cannot expect more now from the Bannorn, it is too late."

"Very well then." Loghain had taken charge of the discussion with the ease of old practice, something that was clearly noted with irritation by Eamon, but not challenged in front of the Queen. "We will be starting at first light tomorrow, with every soldier carrying dry rations for a week. We have seen the state of the land, we cannot rely on foraging or hunting for supply, and we cannot take the time to do so even if we wished. Water for two days, since most of the march will be in relatively clear areas and supplies can be replenished. We will need as much assistance from the Circle of Magi for our speed of travel as they are able to give," this drew scowls from Knight Commander Gregoir, but no arguments, and a resigned nod from First Enchanter Irving who had clearly expected a request of this nature. "With the best speed we can make, the horde will still be there five days before us."

Teagan nodded. "I'll pass word to the commanders, General Loghain. Anything else?"

Loghain shrugged. "Pray, if you're the praying sort, that Cauthrien can work a miracle at Denerim."

"Duly noted." Teagan picked up his gauntlets from the table, bowed to the Queen, spoke a few words quietly into his brother's ear, and disappeared out the side door.

Anora nodded and stood up. "I strongly suggest we all get what sleep we can. It is likely to be something we will have little enough of from here on."

Eamon also bowed and followed his younger brother out, with a scowl on his face that suggested he had been less than happy with how the discussion had gone. One by one, other people were leaving the hall. Riordan caught Muirnara's eye. "Wardens, I would appreciate a few words with both of you in private."

Loghain nodded to him and then bent down to murmur in Muirnara's ear. "Do you think he is now working out how to give us the bad news?"

She smiled wryly at Loghain. "Let us go then, and tell the poor man that we already know." She glanced at the door where Eamon had vanished. "Arl Eamon looked like he was swallowing vinegar all through that conference."

Loghair gave a bark of laughter, quickly stifled. "Eamon has I think just seen that all his clever little plans are not working as well as he had hoped. I think he thought that Alistair would be a weak, malleable king, and that he would be the power behind Alistair, the kindly, wise father figure guiding the inexperienced boy. Now he has seen firstly that Alistair is showing strength in his own right, and secondly that he will be dealing with a united King and Queen rather than a political mismatch of two people who hate each other, and neither of those fit well with his intentions." He looked at her. "Anyway, let us not keep the other Warden away from his slumbers any longer, since he has clearly been working himself up to explain the coming disaster."

Loghain was right. Riordan had clearly indeed been readying himself to tell them the consequences of the slaying of an Archdemon and appeared somewhat relieved that they both did not need this explained. They told him of the trip to Ostagar and of the talks at Soldier's Peak with Avernus, and he listened with interest, occasionally stopping them to ask a question, but at the end he seemed to agree with the old mage's assessment, that whatever Flemeth's plans they were not relevant to what they faced now. "I took my Joining with Duncan," he told them both, "and my Calling is now drawing close to me. For that reason I will attempt to be the one to take the deathblow on the Archdemon." When Muirnara tried to protest this, he shook his head. "Better that it should be me. But as both of you seem well aware, there is a very high chance that I will try and fail, and then it falls to you."

He did not miss the glance that passed between Muirnara and Loghain. "My sister, my brother. We all know the name of every Warden to slay an Archdemon, and they lie in honour at Weisshaupt. But for every one of those Wardens, there are his nameless brothers and sisters who died in the attempt on the same day. Let us pray that my blow will end it. But if I fail, then it falls to you."

Loghain nodded. "We understand."

Riordan offered them each a hand, and for one moment they stood joined, then he nodded to them both and wished them a good night. Outside Loghain's room, Muirnara looked up at Loghain, asking a silent question with her eyes, he shook his head and kissed her gently. "Go and get what sleep you can. I will call you before dawn."

As she walked into the room that had been assigned to her, speaking softly to Wolf who was lying across the threshold, she suddenly became aware that there was another person there in the shadows beside the fireplace. Her hand dropped to her dagger, the figure turned to face her. Morrigan's soft tones were the last thing that she had expected to hear that night.

"Do not be disturbed. Tis only I."


	23. Chapter 23

The firelight was casting strange shadows around the room as the draught from the chimney stirred the flickering flames, so that even now the woman standing at the hearth had an unearthly appearance. "You startled me." Muirnara sat down on the edge of the bed to strip her boots off. "What brings you here, Morrigan?"

The witch seemed remarkably uncertain of herself. She was pacing in front of the fire, watched curiously by Wolf, with his head cocked on one side. "I have thought for a long time about what I would say to you when this night came, as I knew it would. When I first knew you, I thought that it would be simple. Now it is not simple at all."

"Morrigan, you're talking in circles." The second boot was proving more trouble than the first, finally with a tug it came free. She neatly stowed both under the bed and peeled off the socks, grunting with relief as her bare feet came into contact with the solace of the cold stone floor, the blisters at last easing. "Why not just say it, whatever it is?"

Morrigan turned and watched Muirnara, her amber cat eyes unblinking. "Perhaps...because once I had nothing to lose. I cared for no-one, nobody cared for me. It was...safe. 'Tis safe no longer. Over time, you became to me the nearest thing I had to call a friend, then you became the nearest thing I had to a sister. When I cared nothing for you, this conversation would have cost me nothing. Now, I risk that when you know all of it, you will hate me. And while once that would not have mattered, now it matters very much indeed."

Muirnara stood up and looked at Morrigan, and then extended a hand to her, shaking her head. "Morrigan, I have known you now for over a year. When you first came with us, Alistair was firmly of the belief that Flemeth had sent you with us for reasons of her own. I agreed, but I didn't think it was a reason for you not to come. If what Flemeth had in mind was betrayal, then there would have been endless times in this year where you could have ended our lives without witnesses or questions. Instead, we owed our lives to you many times over. So, whatever it is, Morrigan - sister - I will not hate you for it. My word on that. But I think you need to tell me, because whatever this secret is, you are now poisoning yourself with it."

Morrigan shook her head. "Do not give your word so lightly, when you do not know what you are promising." Her fingers, slender, cool to the touch, lightly brushed Muirnara's, then she drew away as if the very touch was an intimacy that she was no longer permitted. "I know what Riordan was planning to tell you tonight. I do not know whether it was news to you, or something that you knew already. I know that you are in danger, you and Loghain. What you do not know is just how much danger you are in - and how much danger threatens everything now"

She paused and then went on, twisting her fingers together. "When I joined you, over a year ago, Flemeth sent me with instructions when matters reached the stage that they are now at. And I was to tell you this, that I had a plan, a way out. The loop in your hole." She shook her head. "My mother...oh yes, tis sure now that Flemeth is indeed not my mother, but tis hard to stop thinking of her as such, she believed that I would be having this conversation with Alistair, and her words to me were "If he is not coward enough to want it to save himself, girl, he is surely fool enough to want to save the other Warden. You will have no trouble." And I believed her, more fool I. But you are not a coward, Muirnara, and you are not a fool, and little as I like the man, your Loghain is no fool or coward either. So all that is left to me is to tell you the truth. And when you have heard it, I believe that you will agree to what I propose, because the alternative does not bear thought."

Muirnara was listening to this quietly, afraid to break the witch's train of words in case Morrigan backed off and stopped talking. Finally, as the other woman paused, she spoke. "You believe there is an alternative to the death of a Warden?"

Morrigan nodded. "I know what happens when an Archdemon is slain. I know that a Grey Warden must be sacrificed, and I have come to know you well enough now, my sister, to know that you would move heaven and earth to make sure that sacrifice was you. But I will tell you this now. Setting aside that any of us could fall to the blade of a stray genlock tomorrow if the Fates willed it, I can tell you, that if you take that death blow on the Archdemon, you will not die doing it, whether you accept my offer tonight or not. But if you do not accept my offer, then you will have set in motion another Blight, within maybe twenty years. Possibly far less."

Muirnara sat down abruptly and rubbed her temples with her fingertips. "I don't understand."

"I speak of a ritual. A ritual performed at the dead of night, here, on the eve of battle. This is old, old magic, predating the Circle of Magi by centuries if not millennia. Some would call it blood magic." A small smile crossed Morrigan's face for a second, and then was gone. "I think to you, or probably to any Grey Warden, the threat of blood magic is of little consequence, since your order indeed employs it in the Joining ritual."

Muirnara absorbed this. "So, what is involved in this ritual?"

Morrigan had started to pace again. "Had things gone according to Flemeth's original plan, my task would have been to persuade you to convince Alistair to lay with me, here, tonight. And from that ritual, a child would have been conceived within me. The child would have borne the Taint. And when the Archdemon was slain, its essence rather than seeking out the nearest Darkspawn or destroying the Grey Warden, would be drawn to the unborn child like a beacon. At the early stage, the child can absorb the essence and not perish. The Archdemon would be destroyed, with no Grey Warden dying in the process."

There was horror on Muirnara's face. "So...what does this child become? A Darkspawn?"

"Not at all." Morrigan seemed even slightly amused by this. "It will become something different, a child born with the untainted soul of an Old God. It will contain the essence of the Old God as it once was, and not the dark forces that corrupted it."

Muirnara's headache was getting worse. "You are saying that this was the original plan."

"Yes. If Flemeth had had her way, I would have persuaded Alistair to perform this ritual, and then I would have left, to return to Flemeth. But Flemeth now knows that I have turned against her. When I discovered, from your account of the events at Ostagar, and your encounter with her there, that she was not dead as we had believed and hoped, and when you described her with this seemingly rational Darkspawn, then I realised what she was trying to do. What she by now has already done."

Muirnara stood up and walked blindly over to the washstand. Dipping a cloth in the jug of cold water, she pressed it to her face. "I'm sorry, Morrigan, I'm still not following you. What she has already done?"

There was sorrow in Morrigan's gaze as Muirnara turned back to her. "Yes. Had she believed that she had any chance of success, she would have come with you herself, and attempted to concieve this child herself. Do not be fooled by her apparent age. You know perfectly well by now that she is not human. You told me on the way back from Soldier's Peak, what Avernus believes her to be. How long does a High Dragon live? How long does a High Dragon continue to be able to bear young? Age means little to them. But at the time that she sent me with you, Alistair was the only remaining male Grey Warden in the country, and she believed that he would never be convinced to lay with her, no matter what reasons were presented to him. Therefore she sent me. But when that plan failed, she looked for another alternative. And it is clear that one presented itself to her."

The cloth fell from Muirnara's numb fingers, as the full horror of what Morrigan was telling her suddenly forced its way into her mind. "No..." she whispered, her voice trembling. "No, even she would not..."

"Muirnara, my sister, I who lived with her for all the years of my childhood, tell you that there is nothing that Flemeth would not do to achieve her end. It has been her intent for as long as I can remember, that when Urthemiel rose, she would have some way to capture his soul at the ending - or indeed, as she said, to redeem it, in the only way left that the soul of an Archdemon might be redeemed, by rebirth. The only thing that prevented her attempting this in the first place, is that no Darkspawn was rational enough to be persuaded to lay with her, to provide the tainted seed to take root in her womb. She knows what the Darkspawn do to women they capture, and her powers are great but they are not infinite. But she has found that impossibility, a rational Darkspawn, and she has found some way to protect herself from the Taint. The tainted child is already a reality, carried within her, sired by this spawn. And the Archdemon will find it, when your sword strikes it down. Unless..." She walked over and took Muirnara's hands. "Unless we go through with her original plan, but with a very different ending to the plan. You convince Loghain to lay with me. Here. Tonight. And then I accompany you to Denerim, and I remain with you when you slay the Archdemon. The Archdemon's soul will be faced with not one beacon of an unborn host, but two. And one of them will be almost beside it. The proximity alone will ensure that the soul is drawn into my child and not into Flemeth's unholy spawn."

Muirnara looked down at their interlocked hands, then up into Morrigan's face. For once there was no sardonic smile, no raised eyebrows, no reserve, only an open pleading on the witch's face that cut straight to the heart. "And what happens afterwards?"

"Afterwards, you allow me to walk away, and you do not follow. Ever. The child will be mine to raise as I wish. And I will take the child far away, where Flemeth will never find it, where no Darkspawn can track it to corrupt it and begin a Blight anew. The alternative is that the soul of the Old God will be captured by Flemeth, and will be born in close proximity to at least one Darkspawn, and probably many, many more, and they will be drawn to it at its birth just as they are drawn to the song of the other Old Gods. The first spawn to reach the newborn child will taint it, and the cycle will start again." She touched Muirnara's face. "My sister, there is no good choice, and there is no way out. You accept what I offer you, and the risk that it may not succeed, or you accept the certainty of what Flemeth has done, and the inevitable consequences."

No way out. Muirnara's mind was darting, trying to see some loophole in what Morrigan was offering. There was none. Either a terrible price to be paid now, or a far more terrible price awaiting a world. She would have liked the choice to disbelieve the witch, but every word had had the ring of bitter truth.

"How on earth am I going to persuade Loghain of this?" Her voice was a whisper.

There was a sad smile on Morrigan's face. "This is where the whole thing would have been far simpler with Alistair. Alistair is not a fool, whatever I may have said to him, or whatever Flemeth might have liked to believe, but Alistair in many ways is child like, seeing the world in very simple terms. And he loved you. He could have been persuaded to do it, simply to save your life, and never be told about Flemeth and the other child. But Loghain is no child, and no fool. And although he loves you dearly, he would not do this to save his own life, and he would not do it to save yours, if he thought that he could save you by taking the death blow himself. You will have to convince him of the truth of what I have told you. And I do not imagine that it will be easy. But he will have to be made to see what the terrible alternative might be."

The witch traced her own fingers over Muirnara's forehead, and the headache retreated blessedly before them, the blue tingle of magic at Morrigan's fingertips. "Believe this as well. If there was any way to do this that did not require me to bed Loghain Mac Tir, then I would do it. But Alistair is now miles away, and he would never agree to it. Riordan has been a Grey Warden too long, and it is almost certain that decades of exposure to the Taint has destroyed his ability to sire a child. Loghain is the only choice left. I do not desire him, as a woman desires a man, and I wish even more that I had not had to ask you to surrender your lover to me for this. If you hate me for it, then I will...understand."

"No, Morrigan" Muirnara leaned forward and kissed the other woman on the cheek, to the witch's obvious startlement. "I could wish that this could be achieved in any other way. But I do not hate you. I could not hate you."

She turned towards the door, pausing on the threshold to look back. "I will go and find Loghain. I think it is far more likely that by the end of tonight, that he will hate me."


	24. Chapter 24

Loghain was seated by the fire in his room, a small table drawn up beside him, he appeared to be adding notes to the sketch map he had made earlier. A wine cup sat beside him, its contents apparently untouched. He seemed oddly relaxed, as though now all the decisions had been made he could just in some way let go. As Muirnara cautiously peered round the door he looked up and waved her in, pointing to the other chair on the worn hearthrug. "Having trouble sleeping? So was I. It really isn't that late in the evening yet, my body is probably under the impression it has a late watch to cover and there is no point sleeping this early." Then he saw her face, and pushed the papers to one side. "More bad news, I take it?"

"You could say that." She took the offered chair and studied his face, trying to work out a way to start the conversation.

_How does one start something like this? Oh, Loghain, I've just heard some foul news, and you're going to have to have sex with Morrigan to save the world? Even the bad Orlesian romances would find a better way to put it than that._

He was watching her as he reached for his wine cup. "Go on, Muirnara. Just spit it out. After all the other bad news we've had in the last week, just how bad can this possibly be?"

"You have no idea." She rubbed her hands together, they were cold despite the roaring fire. "Let's start with everything we knew about killing the Archdemon is actually wrong, neither of us is going to die doing it, there's another Blight coming in twenty years or less, and I'm about to have to ask you to do something you're likely to hate me for?"

He blinked. "All right, I grant you that's pretty bad." He took a drink from his winecup, then passed the cup to her. "So, tell me."

She drank the rest of the wine and then told him what Morrigan had said, as plainly and as brutally as she could put it. She saw no way to soften this.

He listened in stoical silence, she could see the shutters of his mind coming down, one by one, walling off the information as he looked for ways to deal with it. At last he spoke. "I would like to come out with that immortal line here "you must be joking", but I can see you are not. I can also see that the witch has you convinced. But there are other possibilities here. Firstly, since even you must admit that Morrigan and the truth have had what is best described as a long distance relationship many times before, what makes you so certain that she is telling the truth now?"

Muirnara shook her head. "I cannot be sure that she is telling the truth. You know I cannot. But, the trouble is, Loghain, it fits. All of it. We wondered what Flemeth wanted her to come with us for - now we know. We wondered what Flemeth wanted that Darkspawn for - now we know that as well. It all fits far too well. Lastly, I am going here on what I have learned about Morrigan over the course of the last year - that she will mislead when it suits her purposes, and she will omit things from what she tells you, if she would prefer that you do not know them. But she has never looked me in the eyes and told me a direct lie. Never. So if she was lying to me tonight, that is the first time ever, in all the time I have known her."

"Very well, I'll accept that, coming from you." He had got up from his chair and was standing behind it, both hands resting on the wooden chairback. It would have appeared a relaxed position to someone who did not know him, if it had not been for the whiteness of his knuckles gripping the wood. "So, let us look at a second possibility. That she indeed believes what she is saying, but that Flemeth again has manipulated her, as it appears she has done in the past."

"Then why ask this of us at all?" Muirnara had also got up. "Morrigan made it quite clear what Flemeth had sent her for. She maintained that Flemeth had believed that it would be Alistair that she would have to persuade, and had even given her instructions in how best to manipulate him." A bitter half smile crossed her face. "Flemeth, it seemed, understood Alistair quite well, even on their limited acquaintance. No, Loghain, we have only two choices here. We disbelieve Morrigan, and we refuse her, and we take the risk of the appalling consequences that she spelled out to me. Or we believe Morrigan, and we...comply with her request."

 _Comply with her request. What a filthy euphemism for sending the man I have grown against all the odds to love to the bed of a woman he dislikes intensely, to have sex with her. Can't I manage honesty, even now?  
_  
"There is a third option, you know." He was studying Muirnara's face, and seemed to be having little trouble reading the thoughts crossing it. "We refuse her, and we hunt down Flemeth after the Archdemon dies, and deal with that...little problem...before it ever comes to birth."

Muirnara rubbed a hand across her face. "I did actually think of that. And then I decided that we couldn't possibly risk it. We could search the Deep Roads and the Korcari Wilds for years, and simply never find her. And if we did find her, what then? I believed that we had already killed her, and I was proved wrong there. I could see her dead at my feet, I could watch her body burn, and I would still not believe her dead, not now."

"You decided." There was a bite in his voice. "So this was not a visit to my room to make a request of me, or to discuss possibilities. This was a visit from my commanding officer, to give me a distasteful order, and hope that I would make as little fuss about it as possible."

Muirnara turned away from him and stared at the dark sky outside, it was barely an hour past moonrise, and the inner courtyard of the castle could be seen through the half closed shutters, silvered with moonlight on frost. Then her shoulders squared, her head came up and she turned back to him, with an expression on her face that his own face slightly softened to see. This was the look of the young Bryce Cousland, as Loghain had first known him, the steel beneath the aura of courtesy and kindness that he had always projected. Muirnara had never looked so much like her father as she did at that moment.

"I suppose you could say that." Her voice was calm and steady, and brutally controlled, almost without inflection. "I came here hoping that you would see a way out of the trap that I could not. Or hoping that you would accept that we had no alternative, if you could not see a way out. But yes, I came here to order you to go to my room, where Morrigan is waiting, if no alternative could be found. Perhaps it is even better if I do make it an order, because then, no matter what the consequences, you can blame me for them, you will be guiltless."

He was staring at her as if he had never seen her before in his life. She waited quietly for the explosion she was sure was coming, he had never been harder to read than now, his face schooled to a total immobility. She had learned his anger, and how he kept it reined, but this was almost the face of a stranger. When he spoke, his voice was a duplicate of her quiet, level tones. "As you command, then, Warden." He turned away from her and walked towards the door, and she fought down her own panic, and her buried tears, and her wish that she could tell him that no, they would not do this, they would find another solution to this problem, she did not have to force him to this violation. And she said nothing, because she could say none of it honestly. This had to be done.

As he left the room, Wolf crept through the door and came to her at the window, whining and trying to nuzzle her hands. She sat down on the cold stone floor, and put her arms around his neck, burying her face in his soft coat, he still smelled of the spicy soap that Zevran had used to bathe him at the Keep. After a while, the tears came, and she smothered them against him. Still later, sleep overtook her when she had cried herself to exhaustion, and the pair of them curled together in the corner by the window, propped against the stone wall

...................................................................................................

 

**Morrigan was seated on the bed in Muirnara's room when Loghain walked through the door, alone. The two of them stared at each other in silence. Morrigan was the first to break the silence. "Muirnara has told you then."**

**"She has told me." His voice held echoes of anger now. "It is clear that she believes this to be necessary, and she believes that you are telling the truth. Since she believes you, I will. But witch, I tell you this, if you have lied to her, and you are seeking this for your own twisted ends, the world will not be large enough for both of us. Be you witch, demon, or Archdemon, if you have lied I will hunt you down and make an end of you, no matter what her promises were to you."**

**Morrigan seemed unaffected by his anger. "Tis as well then, that I have not lied." She swayed to her feet and stepped away from the bed, moving over to the fireplace. "I am amazed that you did not suggest to her my murder was the simplest way to deal with this, once the Archdemon was safely dead."**

**"Oh, I thought of it, witch." His words were cutting. "But frankly, I knew there was no way that she would ever agree to it."**

**"I thank you for your honesty." Her answer was lilting, almost amused. "Trust me, Loghain, I have as little taste for this as you do, and I would not have suggested this at all if I knew of any alternative. All that I can say is that I think that you will not hate this quite as much as you think."**

**He shrugged and stripped his shirt over his head, dropping it in a crumpled heap beside the bed. His trousers followed it, and, apparently completely unselfconscious about nudity, he sat down on the bed, leaning back against the pillows. "You will forgive me, witch, if I close my eyes and think about my dead wife."**

**Her eyes travelled down his lean body, studying his groin and his clear lack of any arousal as he spoke. "Somehow, Loghain, I do not think that it is your dead wife that you wish to think about, given how your eyes have followed Muirnara for so many weeks..."**

**He moved so fast that she was taken completely by surprise, his large hand curved around her throat. "Let us just set a few ground rules here, witch. I have not given you permission to use my given name, and you will not do so. You may call me Warden. Nothing more. Secondly, you will not, by name, by inference, by oblique implication, mention Muirnara. Because she is the only thing that is keeping you alive, once this is all over. Do I make myself completely clear?"**

**With a twitch of her shoulders, Morrigan pulled free, the expression on her face considerably more wary. "As you wish." She walked away from him to snuff the candles and shed her robes by the fireplace, the only light now being the dying flames of the crumbling logs in the grate, and their reflections in the wall mirror. Her pale body, scarless and perfect, so unlike Muirnara's, was gilded by the firelight framing her walking towards the bed.**

**_She is beautiful, the bitch. It should be easy to desire that, but she is beautiful and poisonous, like those glittering snakes that infest the Korcari Wilds, they look like clusters of gemstones woven into a basket, but to place a hand in the basket is sudden and agonising death._ **

**His eyes closed as her hand trailed up his body, fingernails playing along the skin of his inner thigh, tracing behind his balls, then cupping them in a soft palm. She was channeling magic, he realised, a tingling that continued along the skin wherever her fingers had touched. And then the heat of her mouth closed over his flaccid cock, and a deep and primeval groan was forced from his throat as she began to work him with an expertise he had not expected. He forced his eyes tighter closed, and summoned an image of Celia as he remembered her, in their chamber at Gwaren, dark blonde hair spilling over a pillow, golden skin flushed with that hint of rose, her arms reaching out to him, but somehow the image was two dimensional, unreal, like an old oil painting of an imaginary woman, not the flesh and blood wife and bedmate who had shared his life. What part of his life he had allowed her. And this witch's expert lips and tongue, and fingers, and that maddening trace of magic had brought him to erection, and he could feel the coldness as her mouth withdrew, and then the impossible tightness as she mounted him, burning hot velvet walls engulfing him. As she rode him, he started to move with her, and his mind fought to ignore who he was with, but he could not force the picture of Celia in front of him again. He heard the witch's breathing become faster and knew that at some level she was becoming aroused, whatever erotic magic she was trailing along his skin was clearly working two ways. He turned his head, and his cheek came into contact with a linen undershirt that had been carelessly discarded on the pillow - Muirnara's, it held that elusive scent of her skin, somewhere between pine needles and citrus, a clean, sharp scent. She must have discarded it when she changed out of her armour earlier. And suddenly with that scent, Celia's image was gone and another series of images took her place.**

**_Muirnara, that night in the camp, and the knife in her hands when I came up from the river. And even up to the moment when I took it from her hands, I did not know whether she intended to use it on her hair, after I goaded her, or on her own throat. She was so close to breaking that night, so close..._ **

**_Muirnara in my tent, crying at her reflection in the mirror with her hair cut short, and I thought her tears were for how she looked, but she was weeping for her brother, perhaps for the first time. And when she slept in my bedroll that night, she was exhausted, her cheek pillowed on her hand like a child's._ **

**_That sparring session by the river, taking my hand to pull herself out of the dust with yet another bruise coming up on her neck, and her hand warm in mine, her mind already processing a lesson._ **

**_Her bare neck under my fingertips and that dagger blade. Zevran was right about how little I was seeing of what was in front of me._ **

**_Muirnara offering me Maric's blade at Ostagar. And I did not want to take it, and she placed it in my hands, and in her eyes I saw not hatred or pity, but understanding._ **

**_Muirnara bound in my arms, out of her mind, poisoned, fighting me with every ounce of her strength, and my body pinning her forward, and that scent of her in my nostrils as I held her and whispered all kinds of rubbish in her ears, not knowing if she could hear me. And that bard who saw too much, and laughed at my denials. She was right, damn her._ **

**_Muirnara's mouth under mine on Ostagar's battlements, opening to me like a flower turning to the daybreak, and for a moment she was mine. No past, no future, just an endless present held in pale light on snow. Too sweet to last and yet too real not to hope._ **

**And with that memory his release was on him, and he felt himself crying out as his hips thrust upwards and an answering wail came from Morrigan, and he felt her tighten around him, shuddering in her own orgasm, pulling every last drop from him. He fell back against the pillows, spent, and felt her carefully lift herself off him and move away. The rustle of her clothing told him that she was dressing, and he deliberately turned away from her and reached for his own clothes.**

**Somehow he managed to make his voice steady. "You have what you wanted, witch. Never mention this again, not to me, not to anyone. Do you understand?"**

**"I understand." The witch had paused at the door. Her gold eyes scanned him for one moment, she seemed about to say something, then the door closed behind her and she was gone.**

**He was about to start to dress, then instead walked across to the small washtable and poured the cold water from the ewer into the basin. Then methodically he started to scrub every inch of his body with the icy water, as though attempting to scour away every trace of the last hour from both his body and mind. Knowing that he could not do it.**

 

.................................................................................................................

It could have been an hour later, or it could have been half the night, when Muirnara was startled awake by a hand shaking her shoulder, and her eyes opened to see Loghain staring down at her. His skin was paler than usual, his hair damp, and the hand on her shoulder was cold through the thin fabric of her shirt. "It is done. Your room is empty. Go to bed."

Both stiff and cold herself from the stone flags she had been lying on, she struggled to her feet, trying to read into his carven face some clue as to what he was feeling, but there was nothing to see. Wolf, most uncharacteristically, had hackled and was eyeing Loghain with the hint of a snarl curling the corners of his lips. Loghain turned to the Mabari. "Your mistress is in no danger from me, boy. Take her back to her room."

Her mouth was dry. She swallowed against a blocked throat and spoke. "I am not leaving you tonight."

He gazed at her, the blue eyes as glacial as she had ever seen them. "Muirnara, you really do not want to stay here. I do not wish to take my demons out on you - you made a command decision, it was a rational choice in the circumstances. But I am not thinking as rationally as I might, and I do not suggest you remain."

She shook her head. "I am not leaving you tonight. I made you do something which is beyond forgiveness, and I am well aware of that, no matter what the rational choices were. I would have crossed the Fade to find another answer if there had been any chance of it, but there was none. I have wronged you, deeply. And I will not walk away."

Loghain turned away from her, walking towards the fireplace and taking his empty wine cup to fill at the pitcher that rested there. She watched him drink the entire cupful down in one long draught, then in a sudden burst of fury toss the earthenware cup at the back of the hearth, where it shattered into tiny pieces. He turned back to her, but his eyes were not on her but on the Mabari. He pointed to the door. "Wolf. Out. Wait in the hall."

The dog's eyes flickered to Muirnara's, she nodded and pointed to the door. Reluctantly and with several backward glances, Wolf crept out the door and lay down in the centre of the carpet, his head resting on his paws. Loghain turned back to Muirnara. "And what if what I want from you tonight is to hurt you? To humiliate you? To punish you in some way for what you ordered me to do?" He had taken two paces closer to her as he spoke, looming over her, his greater size and strength had never been more apparent than now. She realised that he had deliberately positioned himself so that the route to the door was still open to her, she could turn away and walk out still if that was what she chose.

Instead, she faced him and made her voice as calm as she was able. "You told me a long time ago that in your tent, you made the decisions, outside the tent the choices were mine. I do not imagine that the rules have changed simply because this is a room in a castle and not your tent." Deliberately, her eyes never leaving his, she dropped her hands to her belt and unfastened it, slipping the worn leather band out of the loops of her breeches, doubling it over to form a strap, and presenting it to him across her palms as she might have offered him a weapon. "If that is what you need from me tonight, then so be it. I love you. And this is justice."

Whatever he had expected from her, it was not that. He gazed at her for a moment. "You never give in, do you? Not even for a moment."

"Never." Her eyes never left his.

He shook his head. "You remind me so much...never mind." He took the belt from her, but deliberately set it aside on the table, then cupped her chin in his hands, staring at her face as though memorising it. Then he released her, and walked to the door, looking at Wolf. "Nobody crosses this threshold tonight, nobody knocks on this door. You hear me?"

She heard Wolf's tail thump against the floor, and a soft whine that seemed to signal agreement. And then Loghain shut the door. Without conscious thought she had taken a step towards him, then another. Then one of his longer paces closed the gap between them and she was in his arms.


	25. Justice and Mercy

Loghain held Muirnara for only a few seconds, then he stepped away from her and sat down on the edge of the bed. She watched him, shaking slightly. He studied her with an impassive face, then pointed to the small writing table. "Bring me the belt you offered to me."

Forcing her fear down, she walked over to the table, lifted the strap and brought it back to him, offering it to him as she had done a few minutes before, folded and laid flat on both palms as she would have offered him a sword blade. He lifted it from her hands and looked at it for a moment, then looked back at her. "So. You consider that you have wronged me so deeply, that this is an appropriate response, do you?"

Her mouth was dry. She swallowed and answered him. "Yes."

He fingered the worn leather, it was the same belt that he had used to bind her, that night in Ostagar when she was poisoned. "This then is your judgement, upon yourself?"

"Yes." Her voice was little more than a whisper.

"Very well then." He stood up, and pointed to the wooden chair by the hearth, a heavy piece of carved oak with a high back, with a look of age about it, over a hundred years of smoke from fire and candles had darkened that wood. "Strip and brace yourself on the back of that chair."

Taking her clothes off in front of him seemed strangely unreal, she had become in some way detached from what was happening to her. The shirt went first, she folded it carefully and laid it on the cushioned seat of the chair. Her breastband followed it, her fingers so clumsy that she snapped one of the clasps trying to open it. The trousers were already slipping down her hips without the belt, she stepped out of them, shed her socks and smallclothes and piled them with the rest. She looked at the chair for a moment, trying to judge how best to obey his order, then took hold of the two smooth orbs that crowned the chair back, one in each hand with her arms braced straight and her head lowered between her arms, leaning slightly forward. She closed her eyes and willed her rapid breathing to slow.

The first stroke of the belt fell across her buttocks and her left thigh like frozen fire, almost painless as it landed, and then flaming agony a second later. She had taken enough wounds in battle to know that this had not broken the skin, but it had forced a short scream from her, and she bit down hard on her lower lip, she would not, would not cry out, this was her choice. And suddenly a memory hit her like lightning out of a clear sky, almost blocking out the second blow as it fell.

_Ostagar, that day that Duncan took me there. He had freed me after we had spoken to Cailan, told me where the Grey Warden encampment was, asked me to find Alistair before dusk, given me money to see the quartermaster and buy supplies for myself. I had been wandering aimlessly after I bought those supplies and dumped them near Duncan's tent. And I had come across a unit of soldiers, wearing the Gwaren wyvern on their shields, drawn up in formation near the walls. Curious even in my numbed grief, I had gone closer to see, and Ser Cauthrien had intercepted me._

_"Teyrn Loghain has sentenced a soldier to flogging, and the sentence is being carried out. I do not think you want to go any closer, my lady."_

_I ignored her and walked nearer, she came with me. The soldiers parted to let us both by. There was a man chained between two whipping posts, clinging to the straps, his body half hanging as though he could no longer keep his feet. I saw the lash fall, and a new line of blood down the bare skin of his back, and then I realised that it was the Teyrn himself administering the punishment. Loghain was known to me by sight fairly well, even out of his Orlesian plate armour, but it amazed me that he was here, rather than just having handed the punishment detail over to a sergeant-at-arms as my father would have done._

_I must have said some of that out loud, because Cauthrien answered without turning her head, her eyes fixed on the two figures in the centre. "The Teyrn has always said that if you have to hand out a sentence like this, then you owe it to your men to do it yourself, and not to pass it to an underling. If you are the commander, then no matter what your men do, the final responsibility is yours, because you chose them, and you trained them, and you have clearly failed them in some way, if one of them has done something bad enough to warrant this."_

_I turned to look at her and saw her own body flinch as the final blow of the flogging landed on the back of the unfortunate soldier, and I knew in that instant that once it had been her between those posts, in some other place and some other time. I did not ask her what this man had done, and I would not have dared to ask her how it had happened to her. I knew from my lessons on history and politics that this sort of punishment was rare in Gwaren's army, far rarer than in Highever's, and reserved for the most grave of offences. I watched Loghain go to the whipping posts and unbuckle the cuffs, the soldier dropped to his knees and Loghain raised him, turning him so they stood face to face. None of us could hear what they were saying, but you could see the pain on the soldier's face turning to surprise, and then to something that was hard to name, but came close to...love? Cauthrien whispered something under her breath. "That is a man who would die now, rather than disappoint the Teyrn a second time."_

_I did not remember this at the time, but that was how I knew that Loghain told me the truth when he said to me that night in his tent that he had not known of Howe's intentions towards my family. Because he had called Bryce Cousland friend for nearly three decades. If he had thought my father a traitor, he would never have sent Howe. He would have done it himself._

The third blow snapped her back to reality and drew a deep groan from her as she braced herself again and willed herself to silence. Loghain laid down another three strokes on her back and thighs and then tossed the belt down beside her. She took a long, sobbing breath and slowly and painfully straightened her back, as she turned she almost fell, and his hands were there under her arms, holding her facing him as he had held that soldier.

"If that was your judgement on what you had done, then that is ended. And now, we have both done something to the other tonight that was not fair, and not forgivable. Let that be the end of it, for both of us. Because something else has been given to us tonight, the possibility of a future." Gently, with his fingertips, he wiped away the couple of tears that glittered on the edge of her eyelashes. "I do not know how much you intended that punishment for yourself or for me. But I think we are done punishing each other. And whatever future we have, whether it ends tomorrow, or whether. Maker willing, we get the years that a Grey Warden is permitted, let us both remember this, and let this stand for all the times we could otherwise hurt each other. It is done already, enough is enough."

She nodded to that, trembling, and raised a hand to softly touch his face, he caught her hand and pressed a kiss into the palm. "And since you appear to remember what I told you about the choices here being mine, I choose not to waste any more of this future that has been handed back to me." With that, he scooped her into his arms, ignoring the slight hiss she gave at the pressure on her welted thighs, and carried her across the room to drop her onto the soft goosedown mattress, then stripped off his own shirt and cast it aside, standing and gazing at her. "Maker's breath, but you are beautiful."

Alistair had said the same words to her once, but in his voice there had been the reverent reserve that he might have used to describe a statue of Andraste. Loghain's voice was darker, there was a hint even of laughter in it, the voice of a man who sees something in front of him that he greatly desires, and knows is within his reach. He reached down to her, caught her wrists and raised them above her head, crossing them there as if tied. "Now, keep them there, unless I give you permission to move, girl. Don't make me waste time trying to find where I threw that belt."

She was about to ask him a question, then it ended in a whimper as his hands slid over her body, caressing her thighs, curving around her full hips, trailing up her waist. The groan became a gasp as he cupped her breasts and then his hands were replaced by his mouth, tongue trailing a series of kisses over the scar that crossed one of them, then tasting her nipples one at a time, biting lightly and then soothing the bites with kisses again. She fought the almost irresistable urge to break the position that he had placed her in, her wrists straining as if they were indeed bound, when every instinct was pulling her to cradle his head in her arms, run her nails over his shoulders, she gave a whimper of frustration that she had not known she was going to utter, and heard his answering laugh.

_Holy Andraste, I never knew what this was like...what in the Maker's name is he doing..._

And that blasphemous thought ended in a wordless wail as he trailed his tongue down her stomach to nuzzle through the damp curls covering her mound, found that tiny nub of aching want and went to work on it with tongue and lips and occasionally teeth in a manner that had her writhing and crying out incoherent pleas that he completely ignored, then she felt a finger slide inside her, then two. With that intrusion she bucked against him and came with a shudder down her whole body, her back arching off the bed. His laughter rumbled against her. "So eager, my girl? I must have been truly out of my mind not have taken you to bed before now. And even now you are still obedient..." His mouth left her and she whimpered, then realised that he was stripping his trousers off, he caught hold of her waist and lifted her into his arms, whispering in her ear "Now you may move," as he eased her onto him, still standing. Her legs wrapped around his waist, clinging to him as he filled her, she cried out again, and her freed hands clawed at his back, he answered with a rumble and took a step to press her up against the cold stone of the wall, thrusting into her with a force that had her breathless and crying. Somewhere in the middle of it all she found herself orgasming again only a few seconds before she felt him cry out, and groan, and climax inside her in a flurry of thrusts that had a bruising intensity against the wall where the cold stone pressed against the welts left by the belt.

It seemed like a half minute that had had the duration of forever when he eased himself out of her and lifted her down onto the bed, then settled himself beside her against the pillows, pulling her into the crook of his arm. She made a small murmur of contentment and he chuckled, stroking her hair. She peered up at him. "What's so funny?"

"You are." He curled a strand of hair around his finger. "Even with something we both wanted, you had to fight all the way before I finally got you into a bed. I never thought I would need to give you a sound thrashing just to get you here."

Her mouth curled in a half smile, he ran a finger over one of the marks from the belt, seemingly enjoying the gentle whimper she gave. He laughed again. "And I need to remember that I am not a young man of twenty any more, choosing to take you up against a wall for the first time was a piece of showing off that I am likely to suffer for later."

That drew a laugh from her and she rolled onto her stomach, dropping a kiss on the side of his neck. "So perhaps the stamina that Wardens gain from the Joining has other useful side effects?"

"Minx." The slap that he lightly laid on her thigh made her wince, and then he rolled her back over to face away from him, curving his body around her and pulling a quilt over them both, a possessive arm tucking her against him. "Now, sleep. We have a predawn start and a forced march waiting for us, and only a few hours to get some slumber in before those."

She murmured something that sounded like agreement and closed her eyes. He dropped a kiss on the nape of her neck and she drifted off to sleep to the sound of his breathing, and the warmth of his body pressed against her.

When she awoke, he was no longer in the bed. She blinked and propped herself up on one elbow, the sky was still dark outside the room, but the candles on the washstand were lit and Loghain was seated at the mirror, shaving himself, a foam of soap visible in the small bowl beside him, his razor in his hand gliding carefully down one cheek. Oddly, this was something she had never watched him do before, he had just disappeared off each morning and come back clean shaven and well scrubbed, from whatever river or stream they had found to camp near. As he finished, he noticed her reflection in the mirror, dipped his razor in the water to clean it, and turned back to her. "Spying on me again, Muirnara? I thought you were still asleep. It's still a full hour and a half before dawn."

She laughed. "I don't know about spying. I was just watching you."

His chuckle answered hers. "I doubt that in an interrogation that you would be saved by that particular excuse." A thought seemed to cross his mind and he stood up and pointed to the stool. "Come here and sit down."

With some caution she climbed out of bed and padded barefoot across the cold stone floor to join him, easing herself onto the wooden stool with a grunt of slight pain, it would be a day or two before she would able to comfortably sit down again on a hard surface. She looked up at him, a question in her eyes.

With a wry smile he picked up his razor. "Having spent all night with my nose pressed against the nape of your neck, I can tell you that several weeks having gone by, you will be complaining in a week about that helm not fitting again. I nearly sneezed several times when you moved in your sleep." A fingertip traced through the inch of soft hair that had regrown at her nape, she made a slight noise and leaned back into the caress. "And at least this time we can reasonably assume that Leliana and Wynne are not about to burst in in the middle of it."

She laughed at that, and obediently tilted her head forward, shivering as he covered her neck in a layer of cold foam and went to work in a series of delicate strokes of the razor which took substantially longer than last time, since it appeared to be necessary for him to drop a kiss on each part of her neck that he had cleared of soap before going on to the next part. By the time he finished and carefully washed her bare neck with a cloth dipped in cold water she was whimpering in arousal again, and yet was totally unprepared for him to take her by the shoulders and push her onto her stomach across the bottom of the bed. She could feel him behind her, pushing her legs apart, there was a moment of panic, she had never done this before, Alistair had never...and then she arched her back and pushed back at him and wailed as he slid into her in one long, smooth stroke, the heat of his body burning against her in the cold air of the room. She heard him growl something in her ear that sounded like "Mine." and then her world exploded as his teeth caught the shaved skin at the back of her neck and bit down sharply, and both of them came in a shuddering moment, quick and hard and urgent.

He was laughing again as he pulled her to her feet and kissed her. "You know, one of these days I will have to tell that elf he did indeed get one thing right."

"What on earth did Zevran say to you?"

"Never you mind, girl. Just be grateful I didn't take a few of his other suggestions."

She blushed at that, even without knowing what those suggestions were. He chuckled and traced a finger along her cheekbone. "Anyway, one way or another, in a week or so this will all be over. You can start growing your hair out then, if that's what you want."

"Oh, I don't know." The look she gave him was pure mischief, and reminded him of how young she still was. "I might even keep it like this, there seem to be certain...advantages."

"Shameless minx." He kissed her again. "Even you cannot drag me back to bed for a third bout. Grey Warden stamina has its limits. And we have a long day ahead."

He collected his shirt and tossed her own shirt towards her, just as a plaintive cry came from outside the door. "General? General Loghain? Erm...Warden! I really don't want to disturb you, but Bann Teagan sent me up to bring you hot water for washing, and I was just trying to knock on your door and this Mabari won't let me in, and...oh, Maker's Breath, he's got hold of my nuts!" The pitch of the voice was getting rapidly higher.

Muirnara and Loghain both looked at each other and burst out laughing. Loghain wrapped a towel around his waist and went to rescue the servant. "Remind me next time, that that Mabari of yours has a very literal mind."


	26. Interlude - Late Watch IV

"I tell you, my dwarven friend, they did."

"And I still sodding say they didn't."

The argument had now been going round in circles for over an hour.

"Look at her, my friend. That woman is glowing."

Oghren burped. "And how you'd tell that under all the armour and the mud..."

Zevran sighed. "And how about that poor young servant of Bann Teagan's - Martin? He came back to the kitchens yesterday morning in a state of near collapse - Wolf apparently had been set to guard Loghain's door and went for him when he tried to take washwater to Loghain. If our grumpy ex-Teyrn had got out there a minute later, the lad would...tell me, does the term "castrato" translate?"

The dwarf took another swig from his bottle. "I still say that proves nothing. That Mabari guarded the door of the room they shared at the Peak, and you know as well as I do that nothing happened."

"Martin said that Loghain was wearing nothing but a towel when he answered the door."

"Proves nothing. The old sod probably sleeps in the altogether. Did he see Muirnara in there as well?"

"Apparently not." Zevran tossed another log onto the campfire. "But Loghain just took the water and sent Martin back to the kitchen to seek medical assistance."

"There you are then."

"I tell you, dwarf, they have. They're even sharing a tent now."

"They shared a tent on the way to Ostagar. Leliana said they did nothing in it but sleep, and she was in the tent next to them, so she should know. And given how cold it is, most people are sharing their sodding tents anyway."

"You aren't."

"Nobody would share."

"And have you seen the way she's walking? And the way she sits down...carefully?" Zevran cast a glance over to the tent in question. The tent flap was shut. Wolf was sitting in front of it, apparently at attention. Most people had taken one look at him and given the tent a wide berth. Word had got around.

Oghren shook his head. "It's cold, she's sleeping on hard ground, this is a forced march. Elf, it would be more surprising if she wasn't walking stiff and sore. Doesn't mean anything."

Zevran laughed. "My friend, she has walked like that since Redcliffe. Now, I can name you fourteen consensual activities in the bedchamber that would affect a woman's gait in that manner, and a further eight if a lesser degree of consensuality is required."

Oghren wrinkled his nose. "And I say stiff muscles, cold weather, and the armour chafing will do the same sodding thing."

Zevran most uncharacteristically stuck an arm towards Oghren's bottle, which the surprised dwarf passed to him, and took a gulp. "Well, my friend, only one way to find out. I have twenty five silvers that says they have."

Oghren reclaimed the bottle and laughed. "Do you just like losing money, elf?"

The elf pulled a face. "That is just foul, what you are drinking, my friend. But warming, I will admit. Do you accept the bet?"

"Very old Orzammar recipe, this is." Oghren shook the bottle. "And I have twenty five silvers that says not a chance. They haven't."

"Right." Zevran stood up as Loghain walked back into the camp.

Oghren's bushy eyebrows vanished into his hairline as he watched. "You're not just going to ask him..."

Zevran had already accosted Loghain. "My friend. If I may call you so. I have a question."

Loghain paused on the way back to the tent and gazed at the elf. "Yes Zevran?" He seemed amused.

Zevran shrugged. "I wish to end an old conversation with you, and settle a score with that dwarf. You and our lovely Warden. Back at Redcliffe. Am I to assume you did not...?"

There was silence. Utter silence. Even the sounds from the main camp seemed muted.

Loghain looked at Zevran for a long moment, and both elf and dwarf waited for the explosion.

"Elf, let me just say this." He had stepped over the Mabari and was unlacing the tent flap. Then before he went inside, his eyes met Zevran's and there was even a hint of laughter there. "Some of your advice...was listened to."

Then he slipped into the tent, and the tent flap fell shut behind him. Zevran and Oghren looked at each other. Without comment, Oghren reached into his belt pouch and counted out twenty five silvers.

Zevran was still staring at the closed tent. "All I can say, my friend," he murmured under his breath. "is about bloody time too."


	27. Chapter 27

It felt like the sleet, and the mud, and the endless grey skies had gone on forever. No beginning and no end, just days that dawned sullen, and ended black, with sky and land marching forward to a horizon where they would never meet. The roads were awash with filth, and even though not all of the Bannorn and the heartlands were tainted, there was never relief from that tugging in the blood that spoke of darkspawn, and came close to a physical burning whenever Muirnara closed her eyes and focused on the Archdemon. It was there in her conscious thought now as well as her nightmares, a directional northeasterly pull. And it knew that they were coming. With too much time to think, and the need to distract herself from her sore feet, she had found herself wondering on the march how it perceived them. Were she and Loghain and Riordan the stuff of nightmares to an Archdemon? Did it sleep? Did it dream of them, and wake screaming?

She knew that Loghain must feel it too, but he never spoke of it. He seemed tireless, moving from unit to unit in the march, talking to the commanders, changing order of march when one group tired since the last unit always had the hardest job and the deepest mud to trudge through, making arrangements for wounded to be sent back to the few baggage waggons they had been able to muster, oxen drawn since all the riding and draft horses had been sent with Alistair's cavalry. Or they could try to send wounded to anything that seemed like a possible refuge as they passed castle keeps that were still holding out. For there were wounded. They had been harried from more or less when they left Redcliffe, never by many at a time, but by suicidal small groups of Darkspawn which flung themselves on the nearest targets, generally dying swiftly. And then there would be a short respite, and then the next group would appear, and it would happen again. And again.

Refugees would straggle in, each with their tale of disaster, a farmhold burned, a village overrun, family lost, livelihoods destroyed. Some had weapons and the will to use them. Muirnara's first instinct had been to accept such volunteers. Loghain had overruled her. "They are more risk to us than they are help," he had told her. "Send them back to Redcliffe. If we succeed, they will get the chance to rebuild. If we fail, then they may be the last stand in the Bannorn, led by a mad Mage Warden, but either way, we have not the time to train them or the equipment to give them."

The sole exception that he made to this was trained bowmen. Anyone who claimed he could use a longbow was quickly tested by Loghain himself - if the man could prove he could hit a target the size of a hand at a hundred yard distance, he was immediately equipped with one of the longbows that Bann Alfstanna had sent, and reassigned to her commanders. So the Waking Seas archers were growing in number, but even then they had to be cautious, their food supplies were limited, and as predicted foraging had been near to impossible.

Hardest of all were those refugees who were already tainted. Thankfully there had been relatively few, since those who had survived the Darkspawn assaults on their homes were generally the ones who had not been there for the fighting and had returned to a burned village. But some individuals had survived injuries and walked to meet the army, not knowing what they now bore within their blood.

Again, Muirnara had considered the possibility of trying to get word to Avernus and to put some of them through the Joining, but the sheer impracticality had been pointed out to her by both Riordan and Loghain. So, bitter though it was, a system had been set up. All new arrivals were sent to Riordan, if he identified them as tainted they were passed to one of the Circle Mages and a templar and told that they were going to be taken back to the wagons bearing wounded. Then as soon as they were out of sight of the rest of the column it became the task of the mage to kill them as swiftly and painlessly as could be devised. Muirnara understood the necessity. It didn't stop her hating herself for giving the order.

At one of their night halts, Loghain having waited in the tent for her to appear, had emerged to find her by the camp fire, staring across to where the Circle of Magi encampment was. He dropped a hand on her shoulder. "What is it?"

She pointed across. "Petra, Wynne's old student. She had to kill that fourteen year old girl who came into the camp today." Her voice shook. "She is not taking it well, and there is no comfort that I can offer."

He looked where she was pointing and nodded slowly. The young enchanter was seated on a sack which probably contained bedding, her head bowed, her body racked with sobbing. The Templar who had partnered her was crouched in front of her and had taken her hands in his. His helm was off, revealing a pleasant, broad face with short light brown hair and a close cropped beard. He was speaking quietly to her, but at that distance it was impossible to hear what he was saying. Seated beside her was an older Revered Mother who had joined with the army after they had fought off the Darkspawn besieging her tiny village chantry, and had been permitted to stay because of her extensive knowledge of herbalism, it was a grim fact that they did not have anything like enough healing mages for the number of wounded they expected. The elderly woman had an arm round Petra's shoulders, and was rubbing her back gently.

Loghain turned back to Muirnara. "I see what you are looking at. But I also see something else."

She scrubbed the back of her hand across her own eyes, smearing dirt and tears together, and looked at him. "What?"

"I see a mage, and a templar and a Revered Mother. I see that mage being treated by both the Templar and the Revered Mother as a human being, not a wild animal. Just another young woman who has had to bear too much and who is as needful of what comfort can be offered to her as any other woman. Yesterday I saw another templar massaging a healing salve into the blistered feet of a young elven mage and lecturing him gently on the need to take more care of himself." He paused. "What I see, Muirnara, is hope. Hope that there may be a better future when all this is over, and that we can save ourselves from the mess that we have made with mages in this land, if trust and respect can take root and grow. Avernus was right with what he told us, that our treatment of mages here has crafted a rod for our own backs. However this ends we cannot return to the disaster we have made. Both Circle and Chantry will need to change, and we are seeing the first seeds of change taking root here."

She nodded slowly, absorbing what he had said. "Magic exists to serve man, and not to rule over him," she quoted slowly. "You think that the Chantry would ever be convinced to release their slaves?"

"I believe they could be persuaded. The Chant of Light tells us exactly what you have said, but it states that magic exists to serve, not that mages exist to serve. If mages and templars can learn to work together as partners rather than as guards and prisoners, then there are far better things many of them could do. I would want more healing mages working with the army, and in chantry hospitals, we will need those with power over the elements to fight with the armies, to clear land for rebuilding, to build dams, reconstruct houses...If the Chantry can be made to see this, then a country can be changed, given time."

She actually smiled, and she had not believed anything could make her smile that day. "You will have the Divine in Val Royeaux calling an Exalted March on Ferelden, you know. Assuming that her head doesn't explode just hearing about our planned heresies."

He had a wry smile on his face. "Muirnara, I have made a lifelong career out of infuriating people in Val Royeaux. I cannot believe it has taken me this long to get around to annoying the Divine, she must be feeling left out by now."

Muirnara raised an eyebrow at that. "I will remind you of that, when the Chantry's armies are massing on our borders."

He pointed towards Petra who was now looking at the Templar and answering a question he had put to her. The Revered Mother appeared to be making tea for all three of them, judging by her gentle fussing around three cups. "Then I had better get on with recruiting and training the battlemage units as fast as possible, when the peace comes, hadn't I?"

"May I remind you, Loghain, that you are now a Grey Warden?" Muirnara's voice might have seemed stern to anyone who did not know her well. "The rebuilding of Ferelden's army in the peace we all pray for will fall to someone else."

"Of course, Warden Commander." Loghain's voice might have appeared respectfully neutral to anyone who did not know him. Muirnara was not fooled, not any more. The amusement was evident in his eyes, if nowhere else. "But since we are undoubtedly going to be recruiting ourselves, once all this is over, it would be foolish of me not to offer...advice to whoever is rebuilding the army at the same time? Indeed, some of our recruitment trips may be joint efforts."

"That would seem eminently reasonable." Her voice was still stern, and then she broke down and started laughing again, with only the tiniest hint of hysteria.

He watched her cautiously for a minute, and then firmly turned her shoulders towards their tent. "Bed. Now. Six hours sleep and we will be on the road again. And there is no way that you are managing to seduce me tonight."

"That's what you said last night too."

"And look how well that particular resolve lasted."

She attempted to look demure. "All I did was suggest that since both of us were stiff with sleeping on cold ground, then a massage with healing balm into sore muscles was sensible before we slept."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, eminently sensible. Right up to the point where I realised just how thorough a massage you intended."

"Tell me you didn't sleep better afterwards."

"I slept like a child in arms. For the three hours that we actually got. I don't think I even had a nightmare - the Archdemon could not beat its way into my exhausted skull."

He opened the tent flap and gestured to her to precede him. She pushed inside and sat down on the shared bedroll, stripping off her gauntlets and touching the silver band that she wore on her right hand, she was still unused to wearing it.

_He gave me that, the morning we left Redcliffe. The troops were mustering in the village, everywhere was bustle and chaos. Our backpacks were already filled, we had had the argument about who carried the tent, and I had lost, so he was carrying it. Despite all my well thought out reasoning about the weight of plate armour and how my lightly armoured state made it a far better prospect for me to carry the tent's weight. He agreed with me courteously, and then firmly stowed it in his own pack. I might as well not have wasted my breath._

_And then he asked me that odd question about whether Grey Wardens ever married. I told him what little I knew, that in Ferelden it was almost unheard of, that in the Anderfels most of them seemed to be either married or in life partnerships of some form, and that every nation appeared to be different._

_He had nodded to that. "Given that the Grey Wardens of Ferelden are currently reduced to two, then when this is all over, I think we are well within our rights to rewrite the rulebook. If the First Warden doesn't like it, then he will have to take a trip from the Anderfels and come and tell us."_

_He removed a plain silver ring from his hand and placed it in my palm, closing my hand around it. "Keep that for me, until the Archdemon dies. Then I will ask you for it back, so that I can give it to you in a more formal manner. It was my mother's wedding ring. Anora recognises it - if I do not survive, take it and show it to her. Andraste only knows what it will entitle you to, since my lands are forfeit as a convicted felon," he held his hand up to stop my protest, "but it will be proof of my intent towards you, and she will salvage what she can for you as my wife."_

_I held the ring very tightly in my hand, and felt like crying, and didn't. I wondered why he had never given it to Celia - from what I recalled of the Teyrna from when I knew her as a young child, she wore a gold wedding band with the Gwaren wyvern on it, a match for the one that was still on Loghain's hand. My mother had told me that they were gifts from Maric to the couple when they wed, that the dwarves of Orzammar had crafted the pair. This ring was far simpler, a plain, broad silver hoop with a rough design of a flower carved into the metal, worn with time. No heraldic device - this was a ring that had been given by a farmer, to a farmer's wife, and had been worn for over thirty years by their son. The metal was imbued with love, and loss, and gallantry, and I felt myself so unworthy of it. But I slid it onto my hand just the same._

She realised that Loghain was still standing in the entrance to the tent, and pushed her way back out to join him. He was staring at the northeastern sky, where the horizon seemed to pulse with red, streaking through the grey night. When he spoke, there was bitter pain in his voice.

"Denerim burns."


	28. Chapter 28

_Denerim burns._

For a day and a night, the flames in the sky had grown brighter, as the last miles of the march fell behind them. And now as they paused on the ridge overlooking the city, the extent of the devastation was only too clear. The mage built tower of Fort Drakon stood as it had always stood since the days of the Tevinter Imperium, a dark pinnacle seemingly part of the mountainside, south of the river which was so reddened with reflected flames that it appeared to run blood. Many of the bridges which joined the cramped city districts to each other had already fallen or had been rendered impassible by rubble and broken masonry. Fires burned everywhere unchecked in the Market District, many of the great palaces on the other side of the Drakon River were a mass of crimson flames, spewing black soot into the darkened sky. The spire of the Chantry was wreathed in smoke. The Darkspawn were swarming over the city like ants on an overturned hill in the kitchen garden.

And yet it was clear that parts of the city against all the odds were still holding out. Little could be seen of the docks from where they stood but it appeared that as yet none of the dock area was on fire. And there was fierce fighting at the West Gate, where soldiers seemed still to be holding in some kind of order.

And then all the watchers involuntarily ducked, as a vast dark shadow swept over the city with a maddened scream that racked through the bones of the skull, a reverberation inside the head impossible to ignore. The few Mabari with the army threw their heads up and howled defiantly. Loghain and Muirnara stood with Riordan a little behind them, heads raised, watching the flight of their greatest enemy as it circled the city. Riordan muttered something under his breath in Orlesian. Loghain threw a glance over his shoulder. "I'd have said it in the King's Tongue, but I could not agree more."

Muirnara scrubbed her hand over her dry lips. "What did you just say?"

Loghain spared her a sharp glance before looking back at the flight of the Archdemon. "He wished our adversary over there a seriously painful experience that is probably not a physical possibility without the assistance of a second, rather larger male dragon. Let's leave it at that."

"How on earth are we going to draw the attention of the Archdemon through all that?"

"We aren't." Riordan answered. "What we are going to have to do is drive it to a high point in the city."

Loghain pointed. "That means Fort Drakon, it is the highest point, and one of the few buildings in the city that cannot burn, it is purely of stone construction. How do you propose to drive it there?"

"Mages and archers. It has to be harried by every ranged fighter we have, if it comes anywhere near to them. You have watched dragons fly, my friends, you know that like hawks they find high points to rest. Even an Archdemon is not tireless. If we can secure the main gate, then I will try to get across the city to the fort alone - one man may slip through almost unchallenged if all the attention is upon an army's assault. I will wait for it there. If I am successful then you will know." He smiled, a death's head grin on his narrow face. "If I fail, my friends, you will also know, because you will feel my death, we are all more sensitive to the Taint because the Archdemon is here."

A distant crash snapped their attention back to the city itself as a flaming building crumbled. More of the Darkspawn forces appeared to be converging on the West Gate, they saw the defenders line close to a square. Loghain nodded. "Cauthrien is there, she's holding them together still." Various banners could be seen amongst the troops, including Gwaren's heraldry, tattered but still defiant.

A hush had fallen over the troops, swords were being loosened in sheaths, shields slung over arms. The ranks parted and Anora walked out to join her father and the other Wardens. The Queen of Ferelden was not her immaculate usual self, she had scorned the offer of transport in one of the wounded wagons and had walked the whole way armoured, as any other soldier would have done. She had been as tireless as her father in talking to the commanders of the units on the march, she had assisted the healers in caring for the wounded, she had spent endless nights talking strategy with Loghain, Eamon and other leaders over their scanty campfire meals. Muirnara had never had more respect for the woman than she did at this moment, Anora must be easily as tired as any of them and was still commanding the attention and love of the men and women who had followed them across half a country, in a time that none of them had believed could be done, just with her presence and her smile.

Anora raised her hand and silence fell on the army, all eyes on her.

"Men and women of Ferelden," she began, and Muirnara realised that a mage, standing a little way behind the Queen, was augmenting her voice, which was normally high pitched and as such did not carry well. It was cleverly done, there was no impression of shouting, but the voice carried clearly even to the back ranks. "And you, elves of the Dalish, and dwarves of Orzammar, who have come to honour the ancient treaties of your kind with the Grey Wardens, and who we welcome among our ranks with gratitude. Before you stands the might of the Darkspawn horde." Her arm swept in a semicircle indicating the fires of Denerim in the valley. "Gaze upon them now. But fear them not!"

It had always been Muirnara's rather cynical belief, studying the battle speeches that her tutors had insisted she read and committed to memory, that no general on the edge of a battle would ever manage to give as polished a declaration as the history books would have people think, and that a professional speechwriter probably tidied things up retrospectively. But Anora appeared to be speaking from the heart, without hesitation. She beckoned to Muirnara, and belatedly, with a slight push from Loghain, she moved to stand next to the Queen. A grim smile on Loghain's face as he looked at the pair of them did hold some genuine amusement - he had warned her the night before that Anora would call her forward before the battle began, and Muirnara had forgotten. Or been distracted. She had also been warned that she would need to say a few words to the troops as well, and at present her mind was a complete blank, filled with a crazed dragon's screaming.

She was dimly aware that Anora was still speaking, and that her own name had just been mentioned, and guiltily snapped her mind back to the Queen. "This woman beside me, Muirnara Cousland, is a native of Ferelden, now risen to the ranks of the Grey Wardens. She is proof that glory is in reach of us all. She has survived despite the odds, and without her, none of us would be here."

_Glory. Loghain was so scathing about Cailan's search for it, and now his daughter is holding it out in front of these people. And she deliberately used my House name despite being told that the Grey Wardens do not use their family names. She wants them to see me as Bryce's daughter, to remember that my father once was a contender for the throne and turned it down to serve Cailan loyally. She wants them to see me as a Cousland even more than as a Grey Warden. But I can understand so well why she is doing it._

Anora had gone on, her voice raising. "Today we save Denerim! Today we avenge the death of my husband, your king. But most of all, today we show the Grey Wardens that we remember and we honour their sacrifice!"

_That is my cue. That is the moment when I am supposed to acknowledge what she has said, and say a few words for the Order. And I can't. I just can't. All those dead, and all those still to die, and what can I say? What can I possibly say to them?_

She saw Anora turn towards her, and the eyes of the soldiers fall upon her, standing there alone as Anora stepped back. She became aware that she was shaking, and clenched her fists within their dragonscale gauntlets to control her hands

_I can't do this._

And then suddenly, blessedly, she was not alone any longer. Loghain had walked out of the ranks and come to her, and his mailed hand closed over hers, and the shakes went. His eyes studied her face for a moment, and she saw his smile, and then he turned back to the soldiers.

"My friends, many weeks ago now, I asked this Grey Warden about the dragonscale mail she wears, and she told me that it came from the hide of a High Dragon that she and her comrades in arms had slain in the Frostback Mountains, in the spring of the year. And I realised then that the dragon must have been the one whose flight was seen over the River Dane the day we drove the Orlesians out of this land, once and for all."

All attention was on Loghain now, standing in his River Dane chevalier's armour that was so recognisible to anyone brought up on the stories of Maric's rebellion. "I told her then what I had told the soldiers that day. That if a High Dragon, long believed extinct in this land, could rise again, then so could a nation. That dragon gave its name to this Age. And now that dragon had fallen. I asked her what portent a commander might draw from that. This is what she told me."

He turned to her, and he spoke the words that she had spoken in the Tower of Ishal. "That an age is ending, and that a new age may yet rise. That while the flight of a dragon strengthened the hearts of men thirty years ago, that the fall of a dragon proves that the strength of a man's arm and heart may still prevail no matter how great the foes we face now."

He turned back to the army, and there was a fierce exaltation on his face. "My friends, my companions in arms, she is right." His arm swept the crowd. "There are soldiers among you who stood with me at the River Dane that day. There are soldiers among you who were not born when we won that victory, and who have lived free all your lives because of that battle. This woman is one of those, and who has proved over the last year, as she raised the armies that stand here today, what all of us knew when we watched that dragon rise. That we are Fereldans, and that nothing stands against Fereldans on their own soil, not the might of the Orlesian empire, not hellspawn from the blackest pits of the Fade. Nothing."

The cheering had started in the back ranks, he raised his hand. "Today a dragon falls, and a Blight ends. We save Denerim, we relieve those courageous souls who have held this line against appalling odds, waiting for us to come. Today we drive those monsters back into the darkest hells from which they came!" A smile quirked his lips, it even reached his ice-blue eyes. "And then, my friends, you are all coming back to Denerim, to dance at my wedding. Even if we have to rebuild the Chantry stone by stone to hold it."

The cheering had started again, wave upon wave of it, as Loghain turned to Muirnara, cupped her face in his mailed hands and kissed her as thought they were alone together and nothing else in the world mattered. Her hands slipped round the back of his head and she kissed him back, and somehow the Archdemon was gone just for a minute, and the world was reduced to the two of them.

Anora was watching them both with a smile on her face that seemed genuine. As they broke apart, a middle aged knight in Gwaren's livery stepped out from the ranks and nodded, the affectionate smile on his face suggested that he knew Loghain well. "Well, then," he called out over the noise of the cheering. "We can't keep the General waiting for his lady a minute longer than we have to, can we?" He pointed to the valley and roared at the top of his parade-ground voice. "For Ferelden and for the Grey Wardens!"

And the cry was taken up by thousands of throats, and men and elves and dwarves were running down into the valley like a river of steel, and even the fighting at the gates seemed to have paused as the shouts went up.

Loghain released Muirnara and turned as his daughter joined them. "Today, Father, I believe they would follow you across the Fade and into the Black City itself."

He looked at her for a minute, and all the deaths yet to be were hanging behind his eyes. One hand gestured to Denerim's flames. "They are doing just that. Even if they do not know it yet."

And over the roaring of the army came the scream of the Archdemon's fury.


	29. Chapter 29

When the hammer that was the relieving army struck the anvil of the desperate defenders at Denerim's west gate, it was possible to see how Ostagar might have been a victory, in a different world where the beacon had been lit in time and the king's forces not overwhelmed before the signal came. The Darkspawn battering on the defenders' square were not merely crushed but annihilated. Suddenly, there were no spawn left to swing a blade at and Muirnara, gasping at the dust in her throat, lowered her weapon and leaned on it for a moment as if all the strength had gone out of her arms. A hand thrust a water bottle at her and she snatched at it with a brief word of thanks, managing to restrain herself from throwing every last drop of the precious fluid down her throat. It was lukewarm, stale and flat tasting, drawn from a stream two days ago on the march. It was delicious. She drank about half the bottle and returned it to its owner, a soldier from Redcliffe that she had never met. Anything resembling an order of battle had been lost in the first minutes of the headlong charge. But for now at least they had a pause and a limited victory.

She saw Loghain struggling through the crowd of cheering soldiery, heard his bellow. "This is a battlefield, not a joust at Denerim's castle! For Andraste's sake, pick up your wounded, find your commanders, get a new blade or shield if you've broken one! In case you hadn't noticed there's still a bloody great lizard flying circles up there, and half the contents of the Deep Roads spread over the rest of Denerim, we've hardly started!"

She pushed her way through to him, the cheering hadn't stopped but people at least were obeying his instructions. Loghain caught the arm of Ser Janil, commander of the Waking Sea archers. "From this point in, your sole task is to keep the Archdemon off us. You keep your men pointed at it, if it so much as looks at an area we've cleared and held, you turn it into a pincushion. It will be close quarters fighting from here on in, there'll be no more chances at volleys. We will deal with what's on the ground."

The grizzled knight saluted him respectfully and stalked off towards his men. Loghain turned to Muirnara, his first words were an echo of her earlier thought. "The battle plan at Ostagar could have worked, you know. Despite the huge numbers of spawn, if we could have got the signal before the army in the valley was overwhelmed, it could have worked."

She nodded. "In a different world, where the darkspawn had not already overrun the tower, where we had got the signal up in time, it could have worked." A half smile crossed her begrimed face. "Why would it not have worked? It was devised by Ferelden's greatest tactician, after all."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh indeed? Pity that this great tactician was unable to convince a King that when you do not know the whereabouts of your enemy, or his strength, that you do far better fighting a war of attrition in small hit-and-run engagements, and wait for the information, rather than staking everything on one throw of the dice and one heroic charge. Perhaps this tactician would have been better served if he had added the study of tact and diplomacy to his military skills." She might even have thought him angry if she had not come to know him so well. He turned away from her, cupped his hands around his mouth and roared "Cauthrien! Report!"

A tired figure turned at his shout and made her way towards the two of them. Ser Cauthrien's exhaustion was visible in every line of her body, the set of her shoulders, the tension in her neck that made it seem like even holding her head up was more than she could reasonably do. There was a slash above her left eyebrow that was dripping blood into her eye, she kept blinking to force it away and her slightly irregular gait spoke of a muscle injury. She made an attempt to come to attention as she joined them and saluted, he waved the salute away. "At ease, Cauthrien, for the Maker's sake sit down before you fall down." He glanced over his shoulder. "Where's that damn sarcastic mage got to this time?" A glance left and right and a bellow "Wynne! Get your backside over here,woman!"

Cauthrien started to protest. "My lord, there are wounded who need the healers far more than I. I will be perfectly all right with a little rest."

"Shut up." The tone was almost affectionate. "Cauthrien, I need a status report on the city, and I don't have time to have you pass out in the middle of it." He had already broken the wrappings on one of their healing poultices and was pressing it to the cut on her eyebrow. "Did you get darkspawn blood in this?"

"I do not think so, ser." She took the poultice from his hand and pressed it to her face.

"Good. Our mage is firmly of the belief that if potentially tainted wounds are immediately flushed out first with water and then with distilled alcohol, it vastly reduces the risk of contracting the Taint. But to say the treatment is unpleasant really is something of an understatement."

Understatement indeed. Muirnara, with her immunity to the Taint had never had Wynne's treatment inflicted on her, but had watched it done to the other members of the party. She recalled once in the Deep Roads when a hurlock that Oghren had slain had clawed at him in its death throes, gouging deep gashes in the dwarf's hand with its blood covered nails. After the fight, Wynne, muttering darkly all the time, had scrubbed out the wounds with water and lye soap, then poured spirits over them. Oghren had borne the scrubbing stoically but when the fire of the alcohol had been splashed all over his hand, he had produced something closer to a scream than anything they had ever heard from him. Then he had snatched the remainder of the flask from Wynne's hand and gulped it down. His comment when he got his voice back had been pure Oghren. "Definitely not better out than in." It had nearly finished them all off after the tension of the fight, they had just sat and laughed for what seemed like ages, while Wynne stood over them shaking her head.

Wynne had now arrived and was gently peeling back the poultice to survey the cut. Apparently what she saw satisfied her, the glow of mana surrounded her fingertips and the edges of the wound sealed themselves in the wake of her touch leaving only a reddened scar behind. She cleaned off the remaining blood with a dampened cloth, looking for all the world like a fond grandmother washing a grandchild's dirty face, then she closed her eyes and concentrated. "You have pain in your lower back too?" Cauthrien nodded a teeth-clenched affirmative and the aura of magic surrounded the old enchanter again. The pain drained out of Cauthrien's face like water squeezed out of a cloth and she hoarsely thanked Wynne. Wynne shook her head. "Hopeless to tell you that you need rest and food now, but spare yourself as much as you can, young lady. You are not attempting to win this battle alone any more."

Wynne then glanced at Loghain and Muirnara. "Are the pair of you hurt?"

"No, Wynne." Their voices came almost at the same time, and Wynne's lips quirked into a smile. "If you have further need of me, Wardens, you will find me with the wounded."

As she walked away, Loghain crouched down to prevent Cauthrien from trying to stand. Muirnara followed suit. "Now, Cauthrien. As far as you know, what is the status of the city?" He shook his own water bottle and passed it to Cauthrien to drink from.

She gulped at the water, and then passed him back the bottle. "Not good, ser. The city has all but fallen. Up until this morning we still held the Market District, we had to abandon pretty much everything south of the river days ago. The only bridge that is still intact is the Alienage bridge." She paused. "My lord, I have broken Ferelden law, and I can only plead dire necessity. I have armed the elves of the Alienage, all that admitted to any knowledge of skill at arms, and set them to defend that bridge, as the Alienage is the only walled quarter of the city north of the river, it seemed the best bridge to try to hold. I have sworn to them that no harm shall come to them for this violation of city law, and that any repercussions will fall upon my head alone."

He dismissed this with a wave of the hand. "It was good tactical thinking, Cauthrien, I would have done the same myself. Do not distress yourself over it."

She nodded and continued. "I secured the docks, commandeered all vessels currently in port and moved all non combatants there. When we knew the Archdemon would be upon us within a day, the few message riders we had were sent along the coast road to Amaranthine, Highever and what remains of West Hill begging for help to evacuate, and they responded magnificently. Every fishing boat on Ferelden's north coast came to our aid, many of them crewed by the wives of men already in your army, they have been taking refugees out of the city by day and night in tiny groups. We could not hope to get everyone out, but I believe by now half of the elders, the children, and the pregnant women are out. Alistair arrived with his cavalry three days ago, the Dalish elves two days ago and I sent both to cover the evacuation. The Dalish archers have held the Archdemon off the docks, and Alistair with a half unit of infantry has held the inner dock gates, but now we have lost the Market the docks cannot hold much longer."

Muirnara could see the expression on Loghain's face even if Cauthrien with her head bowed in tiredness could not. Pride. Pride in his greatest pupil who by now had come close to surpassing him. "Take your ease, Cauthrien, you have earned it a thousand times over. I said that if one woman in Thedas might manage to hold this city until we came then that woman was you. Get back to the wounded wagons, eat and rest, then assist the healers with whatever they need doing." She seemed about to protest. "That is an order, soldier."

"Yes ser." Slowly she got to her feet, looked at the two Wardens, seemed about to say something and then dismissed it and walked over to assist another soldier who was carrying an unconscious comrade up the hill to the surgeons' post that had been set up.

Loghain was sketching a map of the city in the dust with the point of his sword. "So, if all that is holding out now is Westgate, Alienage and Docks, we have to free up the Market District. Then we can get reinforcements to the docks. Where's Riordan?"

"Here, brother." The other Warden had been standing back, listening to Cauthrien. "How do you propose to do this?"

"We leave roughly a quarter of our force here at the Westgate to prevent a counterattack. The rest head into the market district, and clean out whatever we find there. While that is going on, I will send a couple of elves with you to guide you through the Alienage and across the bridge to the south city. Can you find your own way to Fort Drakon?"

"I can." Riordan studied the map. "If you are causing enough of a disturbance in the Market, then with any luck the eyes of all the Darkspawn commanders will be there, and the passage of one man trained in stealth will go almost unnoticed."

"Agreed." Loghain stood up and offered Riordan his hand. "Maker's blessings, and good luck go with you...brother."

_He has never called Riordan that before. Never. Not till now, where he watches Riordan go to his death, or what is likely to be his death. This once, he is thinking of himself as a Grey Warden, even if he does not know it._

Riordan clasped the hand. "Maker's blessings remain with you, my brother, my sister." He stepped back, and saluted both of them and they returned it.

Loghain called over the other commanders and outlined the plan, half the West Hill bowmen and roughly a third of the Redcliffe infantry were to remain at the West Gate, supported by what remained of Cauthrien's defending force. The remainder were already forming up in their units.

Muirnara looked at Loghain. "If the Archdemon feels us coming, as it seems to, will it not detect Riordan's passage anyway?"

Loghain shook his head as the troops began to move down to the gate. "I am gambling - we are all gambling - that one Warden in a sea of taint cannot be picked out with certainty even by an Archdemon, and if I am wrong, then I am hoping that the two of us and the battle in the Market District will draw its attention." He shook his head. "It is all hope, and not enough knowledge. But better than not enough knowledge, and despair."


	30. Chapter 30

They left Sten, Oghren, Shale and Wynne at the Westgate, not without arguments. Muirnara had judged Sten to be the best choice should one of her people need to take over command, the Qunari had shown good tactical judgement many times in the past and Loghain had concurred. There was a certain degree of irony in the appointment of a Sten of the Beresaad to command the defence of the capital city of the land he had been sent to scout out ahead of an invasion.

Sten was staring at the Westgate, and when Muirnara told him of their decision, he initially answered with a plain "As you command, kadan." Then he turned away from his contemplation of the burning city and looked at her.

She would have given anything to be able to hug the stoical giant who had followed her for over a year and a half since that cage door opened in Lothering, who had questioned her, on occasion challenged her, once fought with her on the road to Haven and on his defeat acknowledged her his commander, and who had given her the title of kadan. But it was a liberty she would never have dared to take. She did not even know how to thank him for the many times he had been the shield at her side, the security at her back, there were no words for it, and she might never get another chance to say it. "You know, Sten, you never did actually tell me what kadan means?"

His violet gaze was fixed on her. "It is a term that does not translate into your tongue. It could be rendered as brother, sister, comrade, lover, friend, and all of those would be wrong." Unexpectedly he took her hand and laid it on his chest, his ungloved hand was very warm. "The closest translation would be this - the place where the heart lies."

She was more moved than she knew how to say, they stood for a moment looking at each other, then he dropped her hand and saluted her in the Fereldan fashion. "We have reached the battlefield at last. The Arishok asked what is the Blight? I stand here looking into its eyes, and still I have no answer for him. But perhaps, you do. You have carried us this far. Do not doubt that." He laid a hand on the hilt of Asala. "Nothing will follow you through these gates to attack you while I still live. My word and my life on that, kadan."

Oghren proved far more difficult to convince and only Muirnara's repetition of the bald facts, that he had no skill with a ranged weapon and as such would be of far more use covering their backs finally convinced him. He eventually nodded. "You're right, Warden. Doesn't mean I have to like it. But you took in a drunken disgrace of an Orzammar warrior. You gave me a reason to fight, and a will to keep going. If anyone has earned the right to give me orders and not get backchat from me about them, then it's you."

She smiled. "How about Felsi?"

"Felsi expects to get sodding backchat from me. If she didn't, she'd assume I was ill." His face turned unusually serious. "Sod it, there ought to be some better way to say this. But I can't think of it, so I'm going to say it anyway. You helped me find the one woman in the sodding world who might put up with me, and you helped me get past Branka so I could have someone new. I owe you a lot, Warden. I consider it a fine honour to die or to live for you and your cause. Whichever of the two the Stone decides."

She matched his serious tone. "The honour is mine, Oghren."

He nodded. "Let the Stone turn red from the blood of heroes. This day I will be the warrior you taught me to be."

Wynne, who had been patiently waiting her turn, gave no argument, she had been expecting to be left with the wounded given their lack of healing mages. Morrigan healed well enough to support a small party and also was a skilled primal mage which Wynne was not. Wynne did unbend enough to hug Muirnara. "So this is it, then. All that we have been through has led up to this. Whatever happens now, to either of us, know that I am proud, infinitely proud, to have called you friend. Farewell, and may the Maker watch over you." She glanced from one Warden to the other. "Both of you."

Loghain acknowledged Wynne's words with a respectful nod and none of the usual irony in his expression. "May the Maker watch over us all, Wynne."

Shale's only comments at being left behind were characteristic of her. "So the Archdemon is next, is it? Part of me is glad that it has decided to leave me here at the gate. But the other part of me is...apprehensive. I would almost say that I feel concern for something other than myself, even maybe for a soft, squishy companion. But that would be silly, wouldn't it?"

Muirnara managed a half smile at that - Shale had always had the ability to make her laugh, the golem had a dry sense of humour that had taken a little getting used to. "Oh, it would be scandalous to even consider the possibility."

"Please do not tell anyone. I doubt that I could blush, but it would be so awkward. And..er...do try not to get swallowed whole. If the beast were to fly about afterwards and poop it out, irony would dictate it would land on me. I couldn't take it. Well then, I suppose this is it. Have fun storming the castle."

Loghain had left some final instructions with the two Ferelden commanders remaining at the Westgate, and then glanced once around the ranks of soldiers drawn up in formation. "Right then. Open the gates!"

The rough barriers which Cauthrien's desperate troops had constructed to bar the gates leading into the city were ripped down by hundreds of willing hands, and with a roar of many voices that rivalled the Archdemon's cries in intensity the army streamed in. Less of the Market District was ablaze than they had believed, because many of the buildings there were stone, but thatched roofs and timber frames were smouldering. Darkspawn were swarming everywhere, converging on the gates as they opened in a solid phalanx of horror.

Muirnara half sensed, half saw the Archdemon start a dive towards them, and Loghain signalled to the Waking Seas commander who dropped his arm and a rain of arrows took the dragon in the underbelly; screaming its rage it swung away from them towards the docks. Loghain watched it for a minute. "It won't have much better luck there, if the Dalish archers still live. Right! Clear me a path to the Alienage gate!"

The dwarves of Orzammar led the charge into the mass of spawn. Muirnara realised that a number of them were wearing the insignia of the Legion of the Dead, meaning at least some of the Orzammar forces had made it through the Deep Roads to Denerim ahead of their army, and had taken part in the Westgate's defence. With the Archdemon routed, at least for the present, the archers were picking off any spawn they could see with a ranged weapon, flashes of magic showed the presence of the Circle mages. Backed into a doorway by three spawn, Muirnara realised that she was on the doorstep of Goldanna's house, despite the woman's behaviour towards Alistair she fervently hoped that Goldanna and her children had left the city in time. She knew that Alistair had sent them a warning before the Landsmeet, with money for passage to Kirkwall, but she had no idea what the outcome had been. One of her blades dropped the shriek, she saw an arrow take the throat of the genlock, and then Wolf had appeared from nowhere and the hurlock was down. She spared a swift glance for her companions, Riordan had already crossed the Market and was vanishing through the gate to the Alienage, accompanied by an elderly elf who had come from Redcliffe, and a younger one who she vaguely remembered as a soldier from Ostagar. "Maker go with you, my brother," she murmured, offering up a silent prayer for the man who hoped to spare her life and Loghain's. They had not told him of Morrigan's ritual, Morrigan had forbidden it, and Muirnara had decided in the end that it made no difference. If by some miracle they all survived that day, then explanations could come later.

She saw Morrigan and Zevran fighting back to back, and a swift hand signal sent Wolf to join them. Then a roar erupted and she saw Loghain barreling towards a tall Darkspawn who appeared to be directing the armies. Two Shrieks were on his tail, then suddenly there was only one, the other one was down in the dust with a red and black fletched arrow in his throat, she did not need to look around to see that Leliana had fired that shot. Muirnara was running towards Loghain as he reached the General and her dagger took the other shriek squarely in the back as it reached its bony arms out to seize him. Yanking the blade free she found herself in the middle of several Templars who were battling to keep the spawn off their mages, one of them already severely wounded and unable to use his shield. She screamed in his ear to fall back, he shook his head and gestured towards the young elven girl he was defending, who was frantically casting hexes and sleep spells in the direction of a group of genlocks who had all but overwhelmed the dwarves they were battling. All she could do was drop to his shield side and defend him from that direction, as more and more spawn appeared.

When Loghain felled the General, she felt the sickening pressure in her mind suddenly lift, as though clear water had washed away some of the filth that seemed to taint every perception. She could feel the Archdemon's fury at the loss of its commander, but it did not reappear, either it was still attempting to take the Docks or it had moved further south into the portion of the city beyond the river. She suspected the latter, from what little she could feel of its general direction, but it was getting harder and harder to discern it amongst the floodwaters of tainted creatures in her mind. Without its direction suddenly the spawn were fleeing towards the main gate, and the archers and mages were taking them down as they ran.

Loghain was casting his gaze around, spotted her and strode through the melee. One glance showed him what she was doing, he addressed the templar. "Ser Cullen," Muirnara started at the name, how on earth had she not realised who she was beside? "Courage without common sense is the least of the Maker's gifts. Take your mage - I seem to recall that is Neria Surana - and fall back to the wounded wagons. When you have rested and healed, both of you join the Westgate defence." The elven girl protested, he roared "Now!" at them and startled, they both were running towards the gates.

Loghain appeared to be unscathed other than a bruise on his cheekbone, like Muirnara he favoured an open face helmet. While the soldiers mopped up the last of the Darkspawn defence, he beckoned Morrigan, Leliana and Zevran over. "Muirnara and I have to get to Fort Drakon. We can't split the army further than we have done already, half of the forces in here will have to hold the Market behind us in case a counterattack overruns the Westgate defence, the other half will have to relieve the dock defenders. I propose the five of us, sorry, six," he added at a growl from Wolf, "follow Riordan's path through the Alienage. All of you have some training in stealth, or some magical ability to disguise yourselves, we can risk no full frontal battles once we are south of the river. If any of you would prefer to either join your companions at the Westgate or assist with the relief of the Docks, this is your last chance to speak up."

Three firm headshakes and one Mabari scratching its ear, appeared to be four negatives. Leliana spoke for the others. "We are not leaving you now, Loghain, Muirnara. The two of you are formidable fighters, but crossing an occupied city without someone to guard your backs is folly, if I dare say that to either of you."

"So be it." Loghain stood up and exchanged a few words with the nearest officers. as the army began to divide, and some units started to march towards the Docks. Then he beckoned to the others and they set off towards the Alienage gate. "Riordan will have told them we are following him, so we should be expected."

They were indeed expected, but not in the manner Loghain had probably foreseen. As they passed through the gate into the Alienage, they suddenly found themselves in the center of a ring of grim faced elven archers, nine or ten of them. All had arrows nocked into their bow strings, and all the arrows were trained unerringly on Loghain's throat.

"Shianni!" Muirnara addressed the woman who appeared to be leading them. "Shianni, let us pass. We've got to get to Fort Drakon, we do not have time for this!"

"Warden," Shianni answered, "you and your other companions are free to pass, and we will get you as fast as we can to the bridge while we still hold it. But this murderer and slaver is going nowhere, except out of here as a corpse on a board."


	31. Chapter 31

Muirnara would have said that nothing could actually have made the Alienage an uglier place than it had been when she visited it last before the Landsmeet. Then it had been a mass of tumbledown houses, mended badly with whatever scrap materials came to hand, and filthy streets with rubbish littered everywhere. The stench had been in the air of too many people living in too small a space, and if it was indeed true that the Alienage in Val Royeaux was far far worse, then that was yet another reason for never wishing to visit Orlais. But now the filth was overlaid with ash and soot from the burning city, blackening everything they touched, and the stink of ordure was overlaid with the smell of blood both old and new. And the darkspawn taint tugged at every sense.

She had hoped to get through the place as fast as possible, but the elves who had stopped them at the gate had put an end to that particular hope.

_So they have decided that the best time to settle scores is in the middle of a siege. Why is it that we can never do anything the straightforward way?_

Muirnara was about to attempt to reason with Shianni, when Leliana nocked an arrow into her bowstring and took a deliberate pace forward to stand in front of Loghain. "Now, ladies and gentlemen," her voice was a soft purr. "While I am well aware that nine of you will almost certainly manage to get at least one arrow into my companion here, even with me standing between you and your target, all I can say is that I hope you also plan to shoot me. Because if you don't, the first one to loose an arrow is dead."

Zevran also took a pace forward, raising the small crossbow he carried. The jesting companion was no more, this cold eyed elf was entirely the Crow assassin at this moment. "And frankly, my friends," he added, "you had better hope that you are indeed the first one to fire. Because my comrade here will at least kill you cleanly. I on the other hand have no such intent, I prefer your lingering and thoroughly painful death to act as a deterrent to anyone considering anything this stupid again."

_Oh great. Just how to defuse a situation._

Wolf had already crouched to spring. Muirnara signalled him back down. Then the glow of magic surrounded Morrigan and suddenly the whole group were surrounded in the clear shimmer of a force shield. "There." the witch commented. "Now, you cannot fire at any of us, we cannot attack you. Tis a pity that while we are indulging in these amateur theatricals, there is actually an army of Darkspawn overrunning the city. But clearly 'tis not of any importance to you. So since we cannot move, and you cannot slay us, we can either stand here until the Archdemon destroys the whole place, or else your spokesman and our Warden can attempt to have a conversation like two rational beings. Which is it going to be?"

Loghain had watched the events unfold with little more than a raised eyebrow. "Perhaps I might be permitted to add something here, since any attempt to shoot me down where I stand seems to have been forcibly delayed?"

Muirnara raised a hand as Shianni's face darkened. "Go ahead, Warden." She deliberately made use of Loghain's new title, an attempt to underscore the fact that the man behind her was no longer the Teyrn of Gwaren and the Regent of Ferelden. "Shianni, I dragged your kinfolk out of a slaver's cages. You owe me at least the courtesy of hearing this out. Whatever you may think."

"Very well then, Warden." Shianni's voice was icy but she lowered her bow to point at the ground and the other elves did likewise. None of them eased the strings. "Go on then, you misbegotten bastard. Make this good. I can't wait to hear you defend the indefensible, it will probably give me the first laugh I've had in a sevenday."

Loghain shook his head. "Why should I defend it, girl? You rightly say it was an indefensible action. I violated Ferelden law, knowingly. I was fighting a civil war, I saw Orlesian troops on our borders, which I thought were just waiting for an excuse to cross. I had no money to fight that war, no way to evacuate or defend the Alienage if the war came to Denerim, and I had constant drains on my men and my resources trying to control the unrest in the Alienage. The decision I made was bitterly wrong, and it was not the only wrong decision I made that year. It is only thanks to the mercy of this Warden that I am here to have this conversation with you at all. I am a felon convicted of a capital charge and sentenced to death. The only difference is that the Warden chose to delay that death in the hopes that I would manage to help her to stop the Blight."

"Words." Shianni's mouth twisted. "Words, words, words. Now tell me you'd make the same decision again. Go on, shem. I'm waiting."

"Shianni!" The protest came from the elf standing next to her, who had eased his bowstring.

She turned on him like a feral cat. "Oh tell me, Dirrlis. Tell me just what I ought to be saying to this walking piece of shit? Tell me what your father would have said, if he was still here to say it? But of course, he isn't, is he?"

At that, two other elves returned their arrows to their quivers. "Shianni," the older girl of the two said, "whatever evil the shem did, you owe Dirrlis more than that." They turned away with a glance to Muirnara. "Warden, we will be at the bridge."

The face of the first elf was rigid with pain and Shianni sighed, offering a hand. "Maker's breath, Dirrlis, I'm sorry, my foul mouth runs away with me. Forgive me."

"You look familiar." Loghain had turned to Dirrlis. "Your face...Are you any relation to Dirrlion?"

"He was my uncle. And Falissian was my father."

It was clear to Muirnara that both those names meant something to Loghain. He stood silent, waiting for Dirrlis to continue. It had not escaped her notice that the elf was speaking of both his kin in the past tense.

"They were two of your Night Elves, Commander. I call you Commander because that was how my father always spoke of you. They served you loyally throughout the Rebellion. And when the peace came, they came back to the Alienage, they married, they started to rebuild their lives. Because gratitude never lasts, and no elf expects it to, they kept their heads down, they never boasted of what they did. They worked on the docks, my father raised two children by himself when his wife died. And when the plague came, my uncle was one of the first to die of it. My father insisted you knew of what was happening here, you would send healers, and the healers came. And then we discovered what you already knew and this Warden found out, that the so called healers were slavers, and there was another reason why they were here."

Loghain's face was stone, but Muirnara knew him well enough to read the pain there. Dirrlis continued. "They took my sister into the hospice. We know now she was one of the first slaves that they shipped to Tevinter. When my father realised that something was wrong, and they would not allow him in to see her, he tried to attack the guards and they struck him down in the gutter like a stray dog. He never regained consciousness. He died two days later. So tell me, Commander. What do you think my father would have said to you, if he lived?"

"I do not know." Loghain's voice was low, grieved. "Whatever he would have said, I would have deserved it."

"Then I will tell you what he would have said, Commander. He would have said what he always said about you, that you were the finest soldier that he had ever known, and the greatest general that Ferelden had ever had. That whatever you did, you would have had a reason for it. He would have forgiven you anything. But I won't, Commander Loghain. I am not my father. So, what do you think we should demand of you now?"

Loghain squared his shoulders, slowly, painfully, and looked at the young elf. "Nothing I can do will undo what I have done. Nothing. It may be that the Archdemon will sort the whole question out for you within the next few hours anyway. But if by some sour bit of the Maker's humour I come through this living, then I pledge you this, in front of witnesses of both your race and mine. My daughter is still the Queen of Ferelden, and she will provide what resources are needed to trace and return those shipped to Tevinter, we will find, and we will retrieve all that can be saved. We will pay a blood price to the families of those who no longer live. And if I am still alive, then when this is over I will submit myself to the judgement of your hahren, for the rest of the evil I permitted here. No matter what that judgement is. My word upon it, here in front of these witnesses."

"Oh, rare," That was Shianni's sarcastic voice. "So you'll come back here and accept what an elf judges, will you, shem? Even if that elf puts a rope around your neck and strings you up on what remains of our vhenadahl?"

His eyes as he turned them on Shianni were colder than Muirnara had ever seen them. "Even so."

"Very well then." Dirrlis signalled to the rest of the archers and they backed away.

Shianni whirled. "You mean you people are believing him?"

The other elves were already moving towards the bridge. Dirrlis stared at Shianni. "Yes," he said, simply. "I am." Then he also turned away.

Shianni stared at Loghain, and then suddenly she turned. The noises of the battle which had never quite gone away had been growing in intensity over the last few minutes, and a regular dull thudding noise had been added to them. Loghain's head shot up and he listened for a minute. "They've brought a battering ram to bear on the south gate. I know that gate, it won't hold up for long with that sort of treatment."

The shimmer of magic faded as Morrigan dropped the shield and they were all running, through the narrow streets, past the great tree which somehow was still standing, and up the incline towards the bridge. Many more elves were gathered there, roughly two thirds of them armed with bows, the other third with shortswords and clubs, their ages ranged from white haired elders to a young girl who stood near the front with a half sized bow that it was clear she did indeed know how to wield, and who could have been twelve at most. The gate that stood at the far end of the bridge was rattling with the blows of the battering ram, the warped timbers cracking, the black iron strappings that held the wood together were already warped. Under the bridge, the river waters seethed and churned.

Loghain was doing a swift headcount. The elves clearly had known he was coming, and the expressions on the faces ranged from curiosity to outright hostility, but there seemed to be no more attempts to point a weapon at him rather than at the Darkspawn. Suddenly he seemed to spot a face he recognised and beckoned a middle aged elf out of the throng. "Wirsion, I wish I could say it was a pleasure to see you again, but under the circumstances all I can say is that it is a relief to see you again, at least I know there is one person here who understand how to command archers! Get this lot over to the right, get some of them up on that house roof. When that gate goes down, angle up to the banner on the fort, half draw, and you should have time for two full volleys before the first survivors get this side of the bridge. After that, scatter, get to high points, and pick off anything you can."

"Commander." The elf saluted him respectfully and beckoned the archers away. Muirnara had gathered those elves with melee weapons and in a few terse sentences was explaining how the archers would be working. "None of you get onto that bridge, you'll be shot down by your own people. Let the spawn come to you. They will be constrained by the width of the bridge, at this bottleneck you actually outnumber them. As they come off the bridge, pull them away to left and right and take them two on one if you can, one of you to engage, one of you to backstab. Clear?"

Her words were acknowledged with nods and surprisingly a few salutes. Loghain came to join her. "Do you sense what I do?" His eyes were fixed on the bridge and the shaking gate.

She concentrated for a moment, and then her face grew bleak. "There is another of those Darkspawn generals beyond the gate. I suppose we ought to be grateful that the Archdemon is busy elsewhere."

"Once the archers have done what they can, you and I will have to try to take the General, he is more than any of these elves can reasonably handle. Have you any sense of numbers? My perceptions are too blurred with all the spawn in the city."

"I would say two, maybe three hundred spawn in close proximity." Muirnara concentrated again for a moment. "Could be fewer, I'm still picking up some behind us in the Market District, the fighting there can't have stopped."

"Three hundred spawn, and maybe seventy elves." Amazingly Loghain laughed, his lips pulled back from his teeth in what was close to a snarl. "Just pray that the archers are good."

A final crash as the mainframe of the gate shattered and he turned back, sword in hand.

"And here they come."


	32. Chapter 32

As the remains of the gate fell into a heap of dust and firewood, Muirnara heard the elf with the archers call "Loose!" and a deadly rain of metal tipped death hammered down into the onrush of darkspawn. At first it was almost impossible to judge numbers, soot and dust and smoke were blurring vision, but it was clear that the first volley had accounted for more than two thirds of the spawn that had rushed the bridge. The second volley was taking down two thirds of the second wave. She had time to wonder about the skills of these elves. In a land where the law had not permitted elves within a city to carry any weapon in most people's living memories, to find so many skilled archers at need was a boon beyond imagining but also a source of great curiosity, just how had the elves managed to train their people? Then the first surviving spawn hit the Alienage end of the bridge, and there was no more time for idle speculation.

The remaining elves fought hand to hand much as she expected, gutter rats trained in a hard school where your failure did not get you a drubbing from your armsmaster, but was more likely to leave you bleeding your life out in a back alley. The rough tactics she had devised for one elf to engage and one to backstab were working well, and the archers were now scattering to the roofs of houses that were not yet burning, and carefully picking off single spawn. She cut down the genlock she was facing and spun to look for Loghain, he was standing over the fallen body of an elf and fighting two hurlocks hand to hand. The elf was clearly not dead, she had rolled to her side with her knives in her hands but was unable to get up, a long wound in her thigh seeping blood into the dust showed why.

_Maker's Breath, I think that's Shianni - but wasn't she with the archers? Why is she down here?_

She looked frantically at Morrigan, but the witch was staring upwards and appeared motionless. Muirnara reached her side and shook her shoulder. "Morrigan! Snap out of it! We need a healer!"

Morrigan shook her head and her unfocused eyes came to rest on Muirnara's face, she appeared dazed. "Something is happening out there. I sense magic, on a scale that the Circle of Mages cannot touch."

"Whatever is happening out there, Morrigan, we have to deal with this first. Heal Shianni."

As Morrigan began her spell, Muirnara battled towards Loghain who had felled the hurlocks and had ripped a healing poultice out of its packet, slapping it down on the elf's thigh. "Hold that there," he barked at her, and turned to Muirnara. "Where in the name of Holy Andraste has that general gone? I expected it to be the first across the bridge."

Muirnara paused and concentrated. "I can't tell. It's like trying to pick one piece of filth out of an open sewer now." She span to face an emissary that had just started to cast a spell, then suddenly the emissary was down with two arrows in it, one of Leliana's, one of Zevran's. She spared a grateful glance for her two companions, the Antivan elf gave her a half salute.

"Back to the bridge then." Loghain was already moving through the melee. As he reached the bridge they all ducked instinctively as dragon wings soared high over the Alienage, and a few elves loosed shafts in the direction of the soaring monster. But the Archdemon seemed to have other plans, it had turned in the direction of Fort Drakon and they saw it rise high in the air, then settle a moment on the fort's tower.

"Riordan can't have got up there yet. There just has not been enough time, even if he made it across the south city."

Loghain nodded. "But it shows that the tactics are working. If it's turning to rest up there, in the middle of a battle, then we are tiring it, and that's all that we could hope to do. For now, it just means the other archers will get a short breather and then it will be on them again." He cast a quick eye over the area, most of the first wave of spawn were down, and there seemed so far to be remarkably few elven wounded. Then his back stiffened. Muirnara had felt the same tug in the taint. Both of them turned to the bridge as a blast of magic rocked the area. Loghain swore fluently. "Oh, Andraste's flaming arse, this one's a caster. Archers! On the General, now!"

The few elves who were able to respond immediately aimed on the Hurlock general as it came over the bridge, but the arrows seemed to deflect before they reached it, spinning uselessly off into mid air. A blast from Morrigan's staff similarly twisted away. The witch dropped her staff as if it had stung her, and then was frantically scrabbling in the dust to pick it up. "He is force shielded," she gasped in Muirnara's ear. "But 'tis a mystery to me how he can cast that on himself and still move within it, by all the laws of magic that is impossible."

"Is that what you were sensing earlier?"

"No, what I could feel was far, far south of the river."

"Can you dispel his shield?"

"I can try." Morrigan took a gulp from a flask of lyrium potion. "But someone will have to engage him for me to do it, otherwise he will feel what I am doing and just turn my spell. This is where having that idiot Alistair still with us would have been a help, a Holy Smite would have been the fastest way to break the shield."

"If Alistair still lives, then he is likely to have his hands as full as we do." Loghain looked at Morrigan. "I will engage the General's attention. I would appreciate anything you can do." The words did not even seem to have their usual sarcasm to them, and Morrigan merely nodded. Then Loghain was running towards the bridge at speed and two elves that Muirnara did not recognise had peeled off from the main melee to follow him. She dared not follow until Morrigan had cast her spell, one of them had always had to keep attackers off the mage in the party when difficult magic was being cast, and neither Leliana nor Zevran were visible, wherever they were, they must have problems of their own. Then with relief she saw Wolf bound in Loghain's wake, and turned her own attention to the shriek that was moving towards her, its bony hands reaching out of its nightmare body to clutch at Morrigan before Muirnara's sword separated its head from its body in a gush of foul ichor.

The General was now toe to toe with Loghain, and Muirnara could feel the blast of magic from Morrigan that brought the force shield down, blade was suddenly crossing blade and the spawn was pressing Loghain with a speed and dexterity that she had never seen a darkspawn match before, for once Loghain was forced into a defensive form of fighting, all energy set to shieldwork and deflecting the blade seeking his life. Muirnara knew him well enough to see what he was doing, trying to find a weakness in the creature's defences, but at present none was visible and the General seemed as adept with a blade as with magic. Then she saw Loghain slip and go down to one knee. With a roar of triumph the General was upon him, and Muirnara heard someone scream and realised it was her own voice as the spawn's blade raised to give the deathstroke.

And suddenly from nowhere, an elf, half Loghain's size, was on the General's back. How she had got up there, and from where she had sprung to achieve it was a mystery, Muirnara would have sworn that nobody could have got there in time, but there indeed she was, riding the General's back like a child on an adult's shoulders, her inadequate daggers sinking into the monster's neck. The General roared, and one hand dropped the shield he was carrying to rip her off his back and dash her to the stones of the bridge like a broken toy, but her intervention had given Loghain the desperate seconds that he needed to roll over and strike up at the General, burying his blue runed blade deep into its guts. There was a moment where everything appeared to be moving in slow motion, and then the General was down, unmoving, and Loghain was back on his feet, bending over the broken body of the elven girl who had saved his life.

As with the assault on the Market District, when the General went down, the spawn broke and ran, easy prey for the remaining archers on the rooftops to pick off. Morrigan was doubled over her staff, breathing heavily, exhaustion written all over her face. The elves were moving their wounded into the shelter of one of the less damaged buildings, there were remarkably few dead elves given the fierce fighting, but Shianni and an older elf, both of them limping heavily, had joined Loghain on the bridge and were watching him gently close the eyes of the dead girl.

He straightened his back, slowly, painfully, and turned to face them. He appeared to instantly recognise the older elf. "Hahren Valendrian." His tones were flat, exhausted. "Shianni. Who was she?"

"Her name was Kallian Tabris." Shianni's tones were as flat and tired as Loghain's. "She was my cousin."

Loghain nodded slowly. "She had the courage of a lioness, and I would be dead on that bridge were it not for her. Has she family? Dependents?"

The two elves exchanged glances and Muirnara could feel the weight of a lot of things unsaid. It was Valendrian who answered. "She was a widow. She has a father still living. I will see that he is told."

"She has now saved your life twice." That was Shianni. "Because whatever you face from us if you keep your word and return, she has ensured that no elf will see a rope put round your neck. She died to save your life, none of us would dishonour that by taking your life now."

Valendrian was nodding to that as Loghain turned to him, and Muirnara saw the grief in his eyes. "Wardens, she bought you passage across the bridge at the cost of her life. You may not dishonour that any more than we may. Go on to Fort Drakon, if that is where you are heading, and may the Maker watch over your passage."

Loghain nodded. "Valendrian, take your people and fall back to the Market District, with this gate now gone, you cannot defend the Alienage any longer. Send your archers to join the Waking Seas contingent and tell them I sent you. This bridge is lost now, there will be no way back from the southern city for us until the Archdemon is dead."

"Grey Warden." Valendrian bowed to both of them and beckoned the elves away. Leliana and Zevran came up to join them together with Wolf, who was bleeding from a torn ear. Muirnara was about to ask Morrigan for healing for him, then on looking again at the witch's exhausted face, broke another healing poultice and pressed it to his ear. Wolf's whines produced some mabari crunch from another pouch and he gobbled them down, seeming far happier.

They picked their way across the bridge in what now seemed like a spooky calm, remaining echoes of battle a muted backdrop to the silence that hung like a pall over most of the city. Loghain indicated the road that led along the southern bank of the Drakon River. "For all that is the most exposed route, it is also the most direct. We can use the damaged buildings for what cover they can give us, as long as we stay close to the water we know we are still travelling in the right direction."

What they could sense of the spawn suggested that the force was now split, most of the tugging came from north of the river, some from far west which suggested that Fort Drakon was probably occupied and fighting up the tower would not be easy. And the Archdemon was still somewhere in that direction. Zevran was peering up into the smoke blackened sky, and suddenly he started. "Warden, look!"

He was pointing up towards the fort. All of them peered in the direction he was pointing but could see nothing. Muirnara shook her head. "I can't see what you are trying to point out, Zevran. We know the Archdemon is there, is that what you mean?"

"Not exactly, Warden. Look west, up towards the tower." His voice was shaken. "There is not one dragon in the sky. There are two!"


	33. Chapter 33

"I still can't see anything." Muirnara was peering up through the clouds of soot and ash, narrowing her eyes. "Are you sure of what you saw, Zev?"

"Cara mia, in this hellhole, I do not believe that the Maker himself would be entirely sure about what was in front of his eyes. I saw the Archdemon, or what I assume is the Archdemon, circle above Fort Drakon and settle for an instant, then rise again and swing northeast towards the Market District. Far higher in the air, south of the fort, I saw a shadow that looked like the Archdemon again. Since you have never informed me that the Archdemon has the ability to be in two places at once, I am assuming that the only possible answer is that there is a second dragon here."

"Muirnara, I would believe him." Loghain was also peering towards the fort. "I see nothing - but one of the reasons that we started the Night Elves in Maric's rebellion was simply that elves had far better sight than humans in darkness. It was one of the reasons they made superlative archers. If Zevran saw a second dragon in the air, and we did not, the odds are that he is right."

"But how on earth could there be a second dragon?" That was Leliana's voice. Then all of them looked at each other, and Leliana voiced the name that was in everyone's mind.

"Flemeth."

Muirnara spared a glance for Morrigan who still looked sick and ill, the exhaustion that had struck her in the Alienage after the fierce battle had never really left her. Warring with the tiredness on the witch's face was now a cold fury. Unspeaking, she fished in her pouch for another lyrium potion and drained it, tossing the empty bottle aside in the gutter where it shattered leaving the fragments of crystal glittering in the dirt.

"Anyway, we must keep moving." Loghain gestured towards the road. "We are too much of a target here if we remain still."

As they picked their way down the empty street, Zevran was the first to speak. "You know, Wardens, in some ways this is our most peaceful visit to Denerim in a long time?"

"Most peaceful?" Loghain's eyebrows raised at that. "In the middle of a pitched battle, with the Archdemon overhead."

The elf dismissed this with a wave. "My friend, there is peace and there is peace. I consider this peaceful because we are crossing the city and we have not already had a crowd of complete idiots importuning our lovely Warden to sort their problems out for them. We had a sergeant of the guard using us as an unofficial police force to throw mercenaries out of a variety of hostelries where they were getting drunk and breaking up the furniture. We had various thieves using us against their rivals in some sort of turf war. We had a Master of the Antivan Crows," he paused, spat in the dust and went on, "who was using the Warden to carry out a string of assassinations as a dubious bribe to prevent the Crows filling your contract on her - admittedly every target he gave her was a complete piece of shit who had earned the execution ten times over, but that was probably because Master Ignacio, being a complete piece of shit himself, also knew that the Warden would never take the contracts otherwise. How we ever got as far as the Landsmeet is a mystery to me."

Leilana was nodding. "And do not even get me started on the subject of the Chantry Board and the Mages Collective."

Muirnara shook her head. "It was never as bad as the pair of you make it sound." The elf and the bard both raised an eyebrow at her and she winced. "All right, all right, maybe it was. But we had a party that had to be kept fed, and clothed, and armed, for over a year. We were not exactly in a position to be choosy about what work we took on the side."

Loghain chuckled softly. "Oh - was it you and your party then who broke up the famous brawl at the Pearl? Most of Denerim was still gossiping about that until the Landsmeet?" He paused, then swiftly gestured them back to the shelter of a ruined shop, just as the Archdemon circled again overhead with a scream.

Muirnara cautiously peered upwards. "Where is it going this time?" The massive, tainted dragon appeared to be hovering in the air about a mile from them, close to the remains of the Alienage. Then they saw it dive, saw the blast of corrupted breath, heard the crash of tortured stone and timber into the fouled waters of the river, and then heard its roar of mad triumph as it took to the air once more. Muirnara winced. "There goes the Alienage bridge."

"Well, we weren't expecting to be able to get back that way anyway," Loghain reminded her. "In some ways it may even be an advantage. Having done that, it cannot move troops back into the south city to deal with us if it does sense us. Not unless Darkspawn are significantly better swimmers than they have shown evidence of being in the past."

They moved back out into the road again and continued their cautious trek westwards. "Anyway," Loghain added, "you still have not answered my question?"

She found herself, quite ridiculously under the circumstances, blushing. "Yes. We did indeed break that brawl up. But I can promise you that three quarters of what they put in that song that everyone was singing about it afterwards was completely wrong."

"One quarter. If that." Leliana was now laughing. "That song was correct in most of the basic facts. It was only the finer details that got a little...embellished."

"Embellished." Loghain was now looking from the laughing bard to the blushing Warden and back again. "So, it was or was not true that both you and the leader of the White Falcons were both stark naked when you fought in hand to hand combat?"

"He was. She wasn't." Zevran took up the tale. "But what she was wearing left...well, shall we say, very little to the imagination?"

Muirnara's blushes were getting worse. "Look, the man was drunk, but not so drunk that he would have let a woman in full armour within dagger range. A woman in her smallclothes with two daggers in wrist sheaths that he failed to notice was another matter."

Fort Drakon was getting more and more clear as they walked along the river road. Muirnara paused and looked around. "I just cannot believe that no Darkspawn have attacked us at any point since we crossed the Alienage bridge. The Archdemon cannot possibly have withdrawn all of them north of the river."

"Don't change the subject," Leliana teased her.

"I am not changing the subject. I am just...making a tactical observation."

"Tactical observation. Very well, Warden." Zevran's face was sly.

Loghain smiled. "And the threats that you made to the leader of the White Falcons should he and his men return?"

"Entirely accurate," Zevran put in. "Sanga was also perfectly happy to add a decoration of that kind to the sign outside. Whether it would have constituted the best advertisement for the place in the long term..."

"At least no mercenaries would have been breaking up the place in the near future, with that sort of warning." Leliana added.

Morrigan was looking from one member of the party to another in bemusement. "So, enlighten me. Since I was not there that day, 'tis unclear to me what you are speaking of?"

Loghain glanced at Morrigan. "Well, according to the song, your Warden informed her beaten opponent that should he and his men return to the Pearl, she would happily throw them out again, but this time they would be leaving their...family jewels behind to be nailed to the sign as a warning to others."

"I see." Morrigan's face was inscrutable but both Zevran and Leliana were howling with laughter, and Muirnara was blushing even harder.

"But I will admit," Zevran added, "that our lovely Warden does not still wear a necklace of their ears. That is a detail that came entirely from the song writer's fertile imagination. It would not be a remotely attractive necklace anyway."

Suddenly the embarrassment was the last thing on Muirnara's mind as she broke away from the others to examine a body lying in a back alley just off the road, slumped against a broken rainwater barrel. Loghain followed her. "What is it, Warden?"

She pointed to the corpse. "I thought...well for a moment I thought...oh, it doesn't matter. It's silly."

"Out with it."

She indicated the tabard he was wearing, singed and ripped but with its sigil still visible. "He is wearing Highever livery. We know that none of the castle guard from Highever survived, Howe slaughtered them all. And the Highever troops who went with my brother either perished in the battle at Ostagar or died with Fergus in the Korcari Wilds in the aftermath of that battle. But there was something about his build - he reminded me of Ser Ausrin, my brother's second in command. It isn't possible though - and his body is so burned that I doubt this man's own mother would recognise him now."

"Muirnara, Cauthrien ransacked the city to arm as many people as she could before the Archdemon got here. It is entirely possible that in the remains of your family's manor here there were some pieces of armour and weapons, and the armour would just have been assigned to whoever it might fit," Loghain reminded her, not unkindly.

"I know. I told you it was silly." Muirnara dusted her hands off and turned away from the fallen man, then suddenly was running back towards the others. "Morrigan!"

The witch was swaying, her eyes half closed, appearing about to fall. Leliana was supporting one of her arms. Loghain was quickly beside her and the two of them half carried Morrigan to the dubious shelter of a half burned house, kicking down the remains of the shattered door and setting her on the floor in the corner. Muirnara darted back out of the house to soak a torn rag in the water that remained in the broken barrel and brought it back to wipe the witch's face and wrists with. Morrigan opened her eyes with a shudder. "Tis nothing, I am well." Her eyes still seemed only partly focused. "There is magic again in the south city. I can feel it, and it is...draining me."

"Draining you?" Loghain's voice was sharp. "Do you mean that you are the target of it?"

"No." Morrigan seemed to be finding it hard to explain. "At least I do not think I am." She paused. "Just as you have found it close to impossible to explain to me how you perceive the Taint, so it is equally hard for me to explain to you how I perceive magic and those who wield it. I will try to put it in terms that you can understand."

She paused, took a deep breath and continued. "To me, magic is something all around, at all times, it is like a great sea that all mages float in, and as we grow in power we learn to read its tides and currents and harness them to our will. We sense others and their movements within the same sea just as one fisherman is aware of another boat half a mile from him, or a swimmer senses a change in the current or the turn of the tide. This is normal, over time we almost ignore it. But what is happening in the south is different. It is more like someone is attempting to turn a waterfall uphill. I can feel the will of this other mage drawing power in quantities that I would not consider any mage able to handle and yet live. I can feel his will - and yes, I do indeed know that this mage is male, a woman's magic is entirely different. He is searching for something, and I do not believe that it is me, because he has touched on me once already and then has withdrawn. But where he has touched me has weakened me, as though he drew power from that touch."

"Blood magic?" Loghain seemed uncertain how to deal with this new threat.

"No. Blood magic draws not on the tides of power around us, but upon the currents of power that move within our bodies - ours or a victim's. This is not like that." Morrigan seemed frustrated by her inability to explain. "A smith takes and shapes metal to his will. A lodestone draws metal to it, despite being inanimate. This mage, by that analogy, is the lodestone. There is no sense of his attempting to steal power, it is something that is happening in his wake. I do not know if he is even aware that he is doing it."

"Can you keep going?" Loghain reverted to the most practical of enquiries. "Or do you need to rest?"

Morrigan was already struggling to her feet. "I can keep going. But my ability to heal you may be severely limited. I would advise," she added with a flash of her normal sarcastic humour, "that we keep ourselves out of as much trouble as possible. I will regain my power, but it will take time, and as is often the case, 'tis time that we have least of."

"Noted." Loghain gestured to the others to move out and the party cautiously took to the road again. Then he held up a hand. "Back into the shadows. Movement ahead."

They paused at the corner of a building, then Loghain heaved a sigh of relief. "We have found friends." He moved out into the road, and it was clear that what was approaching them was a small unit of dwarves, bearing the tattoos and the armour of the Legion of the Dead. Muirnara walked forward to join him, the others followed.

"Greetings, Wardens." The young dwarf who led the patrol saluted them. "I have been sent by my commander to tell you that the Legion hold the ground floor of Fort Drakon, but we do not have the numbers to assail the upper floors, and the sooner you can," he paused, and looked slightly embarassed, "I quote - 'come and get this bloody great flying deepstalker off the roof' - the better he will be pleased."

Muirnara was startled into a laugh. "How on earth did you get into the south city? I thought all the bridges were down?"

"Bridges?" The dwarf seemed amused by that as they approached the great steps that led up to the fort. "Dwarves do not use bridges, Warden Commander. Just because you topsiders have no knowledge or interest in the tunnels below your city does not mean the tunnels are not there. Just be grateful those tunnels are no longer teeming with darkspawn after we cleared them. You do not want to know what this city was sitting on top of before we got there."

She looked at Loghain, who was nodding. "Lead on then. We will attempt to solve your Commander's problem for him."


	34. Chapter 34

"Have you seen the other Warden? Riordan?" Muirnara was questioning the dwarf as they ran towards the main doors of Fort Drakon.

"Warden Commander, I have not, but I believe he is within the fort. I was not one of the first ones to get here, but another dwarf said that a Warden had already gone up the fort trying to reach the roof. But whether he succeeded, or indeed whether he still lives, none of us can tell you."

"He still lives. We would have known if he had fallen." Muirnara was recalling Riordan's final words at the Westgate. "But the fact that he lives is not enough, he could be wounded or unconscious. I had hoped when you said that the Legion held the Fort that you might have news for us, but it was probably a foolish hope."

"Speak to my officer, Warden Commander, he may be able to tell you more."

As they reached the doors to Fort Drakon, they suddenly heard one of the dwarves posted on the steps call a warning. Loghain echoed the warning a second later with a bellow, as a dragon's shadow blocked out the light passing over the fort. The party hurried to the top of the steps. Leliana and Zevran had already raised their bows as they reached the top step, but again the Archdemon seemed to be making a wide sweep of the damaged city and the dragon soared overhead without so much as a pause.

They were about to breathe a sigh of relief when it rapidly became apparent that they had relaxed too soon. Whether the Archdemon had sensed the Wardens despite all the other taint ebbing and flowing within the city, or whether like a brute beast he had just turned towards a movement where no movement was expected was impossible to tell. Either way, the dragon had lowered his head and was diving towards the party at the steps. Zevran and Leliana both loosed their arrows at his belly; but this distracted it no more than the sting of a couple of horseflies, and here there were no concerted arrow volleys to keep it away. Muirnara could hear behind her the frantic drawing back of bolts and bars on the heavy door, but there was no way that the door would open in time. Loghain had stepped in front of her and raised his heavy shield to protect both of them, but it seemed a futile effort in the face of the oncoming horror.

And then, from nowhere, a second dragon was there. Plummeting down so fast that the watchers hardly had time to see it before it struck down on the back of the Archdemon, screaming defiance, talons raking great gouges in the Archdemon's scales that oozed black ichor. The Archdemon barely had time to pull out of the dive to face this new threat, a roar of crazed defiance ripping from his throat as he soared up in a series of wildly aerobatic moves, attempting to shake off the challenger. A spin threw the untainted dragon backwards, her wings frantically trying to control the tumble towards the ruined city below, then she regained her balance, screamed with fury and launched herself at her opponent's throat.

The two dragons fought without quarter asked or given, talons, teeth and tails all employed as weapons as the opportunity rose. It appeared that the second dragon - Flemeth? - was attempting to lock her jaws in the throat of her opponent but was being constantly thwarted by the other dragon dropping his head, snaking his neck and battering with his wings around her head, blinding her. Similarly the Archdemon appeared to have little fortune in raking at her soft underbelly with his talons; her own scaled legs lashed him away and every time it appeared that one of them was gaining an advantage they would both find that they were losing too much height in the air and risking a joint crash into the burning city. They would then break apart, swiftly regain altitude and dive at each other to rejoin the battle.

The doors of Fort Drakon were now open and the Legion members who held them were frantically beckoning to the Wardens' party and to their own scout patrol to enter the fort so that the doors could be closed again, but Loghain and Muirnara stood watching the draconic battle as if mesmerised by it. At one point, Loghain was heard to murmur to Muirnara "Do you think that she no longer believes that it is necessary for a Warden to strike the final blow? That what she bears is sufficient to draw the soul to her anyway?" and Muirnara's reply "Perhaps. In which case I hope very much that she is wrong."

Finally, a violent lunge from the Archdemon sank his teeth into the second dragon's ribcage just below the wing, and she let out a scream that could have been heard in the Fade. She beat her wings, desperately trying to break his grip, and as a powerful downstroke of the wing's mainsail caught his head the deathgrip was loosened, but he did not let go. As he finally lost his clutch on her his teeth ripped a huge gouge in her mailed side and she seemed to concede defeat. As he lost the contact completely she banked hard in mid air, and was flying in full retreat out towards the sea.

The Archdemon roared in triumph, and then suddenly the roar because another shriek of pain and surprise. As they watched, a tiny figure had leapt from the battlements of the fort above them and had landed squarely between the wings of the beast. It was impossible to see exactly what he was doing, but every one of them knew exactly who he was. The dragon had gone into a series of body-twisting movements in the air, trying to shake off this minute attacker who was somehow clinging on against the odds.

_Riordan. Oh, Maker keep you, my courageous brother. If this was a story, this would deserve to succeed, but this is no story._

Beside her, Loghain was rigid. "He is trying to get a sword blade into the base of the neck, in the manner in which one would kill a serpent. Brave, and logical, but it is not going to work. If he could hit exactly the right spot, but how he can possibly judge that when he is trying at the same time to stay mounted on something like that..."

And as if to illustrate Loghain's words, a final twist dislodged the tiny rider. They saw him desperately scrabble for a hold and fail. And then with the last remnants of failing strength as he slipped over the wing they saw him stab down with both dagger and sword. The force of his fall and the beat of the wing finished the move - as he slid down the wing he was ripping the sail of the wing in half and the Archdemon was howling in pure agony. Then there was no more wing, only the tiny figure tumbling through air below the maimed dragon that was desperately trying to maintain its height and failing.

They both felt his death, as he had promised to them that they would. That burning fire in the Taint that was another Warden was suddenly gone, winked out of the world as though it had never been. Muirnara's tears were cold on her cheeks as she whispered the prayer for the dead under her voice, not knowing what god might hear or care about the death of a hero. But if ever a hero had deserved to rest at the Maker's right hand and be at peace, it was surely Riordan.

Loghain showed no tears but his eyes were fixed on the crippled dragon which had drifted to a rest high above them on the roof of Fort Drakon. "Muirnara, he did not die for nothing. Look. He destroyed the Archdemon's wing, now it has come to land it cannot rise again. As he told us, it now falls to us to finish what he started." He physically turned her shoulders and pushed her towards the door to the fort. "We will not dishonour him by failing now."

The doors closed behind them with a crash, and dwarves slid the bolts and bars and then appeared to be constructing some form of barricade to reinforce those bars. The young dwarf pulled his helm off and ran a hand through his tangled braids as his eyes searched the room. "Commander Aeducan?"

An older dwarf came to join them. "Report, Brosca."

"All the patrol safe, sir. Wardens and their party retrieved." He gave what could only be described as a cheeky grin. "And the bloody great flying deepstalker is still on the roof, sir, but it only has one wing these days."

"That'll do, Brosca. Get your patrol group sorted out and treated if they are injured."

"Sir." Brosca saluted and stepped back.

The older dwarf sighed. "Sometimes I could wish I worked with a more conventional unit of soldiers, where there was actually the concept of 'respect for rank.' Greetings, Wardens. We are very glad to see you, as you are probably aware."

Loghain was already looking at the sheets of vellum on the table where rough diagrams of the Fort's various levels had been sketched out. "I did not expect to see the Legion this side of the river, Commander, as you probably guessed. But I am none the less happy to see them. Just tell me how exactly you managed this conjuring trick? The young dwarf - Brosca - he said something about tunnels?"

Aeducan nodded. "Your city, Wardens, is sitting above a network of tunnels that pass below the river, and extend outside the walls for several miles in all directions. The tunnels aren't of Dwarven origin, they are Tevinter and roughly of a timeframe with the construction of Fort Drakon. I would imagine that they were probably intended as a way out of the city for the magisters should things ever really get too hot for them, back in the ancient Tevinter imperium."

"So how is it that we have had no knowledge of these tunnels?"

"From what we saw of them, Warden, they have been disused for probably hundred of years, for the most part. Surprisingly not all of them though - there were two or three entrances within the city that had been carefully cleared and maintained on the tunnel side, although care had been taken not to render the entrances visible."

"So someone has indeed been using these tunnels, but keeping it very quiet." Loghain looked thoughtful. "So how is it we have not had Darkspawn incursions from the tunnels before?"

"Until relatively recently, Warden, these tunnels had no connection to the Deep Roads. When we came through the Deep Roads to get to Denerim we were expecting to have to return to the surface for the final leg of the march. Then we discovered that the spawn had broken through into the Tevinter tunnels and we had a nice little warmup battle in there to clear them all out. We've brought down the tunnel roof where they got in, so no more will come through that way unless they dig another entry - but most of the Deep Roads were completely clear as we came through, at present I think it's low risk."

Muirnara glanced round the room. Zevran and Leliana both seemed to be replenishing their quivers from a store of arrows by the steps leading into the fort. Morrigan was sitting on the ground and delving into her herbalism supplies to find some dried leaves which she folded into a pellet and put in her mouth. While Loghain and the dwarven commander discussed the layout of the upper fort, Muirnara walked over to crouch down beside Morrigan. "How are you doing?"

"I am well." Morrigan swallowed the leaves with a grimace. "That mage is very close. I cannot tell you if he is in the fort itself, but it seems likely. If he is not, he has to be in an adjacent building or directly below our feet. I felt one last blast of magic just as we stood on the steps, and since then there there has been nothing from him. But the blast was different from what I sensed from him earlier, that was a probe - this was destructive. And indiscriminate - it was like the destroying force radiated out from him and everything caught in it fell. And now there is nothing."

"Do you think him dead?"

"How on earth can I tell? There is no movement in the ocean of magic that tells of the death of a mage. He could be dead, unconscious, asleep, resting, anything. All I can tell you is that he is no longer casting."

Muirnara watched Morrigan make herself another pill of the dried herbs. "What is that you are taking?"

"Bittertwist. It grows as a parasitic plant on trees in the Korcari Wilds. It increases resistance for a caster towards all forms of magic which drain mana." Morrigan gave a reluctant smile. "If all of the escaped apostates who reached the Wilds were competent herbalists and knew what to look for, your Templars would have a far harder time bringing them in. But for some reason this plant does not feature in any of the herbals that I saw at Kinloch Hold while we were there. I cannot imagine why..."

"Are you fit to get moving?"

"Whenever you are ready." Morrigan climbed tiredly to her feet. "This has already been a long, long day. I will be glad to see it ended."

The two women rejoined Loghain at the table. He pointed to one of the charts. "The Legion say that since they cleared this floor and sealed the inner doors there have been some sounds of fighting beyond. Who or what was fighting who, the Maker only knows, we have no more troops in here. You told me once, Muirnara, that the Darkspawn fight each other when the Archdemon does not direct them, but so close to the Archdemon I cannot imagine that to be a solution. All we can do is get to the roof as quickly as we can with as few pitched battles as we can. Miracle though that might be."

Zevran and Leliana were already waiting for them at the steps. Commander Aeducan nodded respectfully. "We will bar this door behind you again, Wardens. But while any of us live, nothing will get through here to take you unawares. The Stone guide your path."

Muirnara saluted the dwarf, and Loghain led the way into the darkness beyond the doors.

The corridor twisted more times than Muirnara remembered from her previous escape from the fort, and she was uncertain of the way more than once. Loghain appeared to have no such uncertainties, he led them forward into the darkness with certainty. "These are the back stairs," he told her as they climbed. "Little used, other that by people wishing to enter or leave the fort unseen. But the main route must be choked with spawn by now."

"Are you sure? Feel."

He nodded. "I cannot sense as many spawn as I would have suspected, but they are there. Perhaps the Legion killed most of what was in here, but we cannot make assumptions."

They paused at the door at the top of the stairs. "Here's where we will probably find trouble, he warned. "Ready?"

Three grim nods, one soft whine, and then he shoulder-charged the door. The wood shattered and they rushed forward into a room full of...dead Darkspawn? And...

Leliana was the first to regain her voice. "Sandal? What on earth are you doing here?"

"Enchantment!"


	35. Chapter 35

"And just what in the name of the Archdemon's tainted testicles is *he* doing here?" There was a edge of relief in Loghain's voice but also exasperation. It was clear that whatever he had expected to find in this room, Sandal was not it.

"The Archdemon doesn't have testicles." That was Zevran.

"And how would you know that, elf? Took a good look as it flew over?"

"My friend, what do you know about High Dragons? They are female. Always female. The males are a fraction of that size."

"And every story of every Blight refers to the Archdemons as male. So perhaps your logic is a little flawed here."

"And did any of the writers of those historical epics actually take a good look at the Archdemons? Or are they all just reporting what they have heard, probably fourth hand and a century after the death of said Archdemon?"

"You might have a point." Loghain was looking around the room. "What on earth has happened here though - this makes no sense?"

Leliana in the mean time had been talking to Sandal, trying to get some better answer out of the young dwarf as to what he was doing in Fort Drakon in the middle of a battle. Finally she gave up and came over to Muirnara. "It's hopeless, cherie. He doesn't know, or if he does know, he can't answer. But this is just impossible. We left the Feddicks over in the camp outside the Westgate with the wounded. The last time I saw either of them was before the assault on the Westgate, and I know for a fact that neither of them came into the city with us when we retook the Westgate and the Market District. We know that there was only one bridge left intact, the Alienage bridge, and the Archdemon destroyed that after we crossed it. "

"Supposing he came through the Tevinter tunnels that Commander Aeducan mentioned?" Muirnara was studying Sandal, who was staring at her with that same half smile that had never left his face in a year and a half.

"Then the Legion would have mentioned it if he had gone through with them. But they said they heard fighting up here - presumably that was whoever killed all these Darkspawn. If he went through the tunnels before the Legion cleared them, then how on earth is he still alive? And if he followed the Legion through once they had cleared the tunnels, then how did he get into Fort Drakon ahead of them? None of this makes sense."

"Not to mention the next impossibility." That was Loghain, over Muirnara's shoulder, listening in to the conversation. "How is one young simple-minded dwarf alive in a room containing roughly forty dead Darkspawn? Who killed those Darkspawn? And whoever killed them - where is he now?"

"Sandal is covered in blood. Look at his clothes, his hands, it's even in his hair." Muirnara walked around Sandal and cautiously touched a dark stain on his arm, the dwarf paid no more attention to it than he would to a fly landing. She held up her finger. "It's all Darkspawn blood, not his, and it isn't even dry. This can only have happened in the last hour."

"Muirnara, you and I had better search the bodies." Loghain was already turning over the genlock nearest to him. "The rest of you, keep back, there's no sense in risking any more exposure to the Taint than you have to. Most of these are pretty mangled."

A cursory search of the bodies produced a few answers and a lot more questions. The spawn that were furthest away from Sandal, where he stood at the foot of the stairs were the least marked, some appeared completely undamaged - and dead. The ones nearest to the foot of the stairs were all but torn apart.

"This is the pattern of a blast wave of magical force." Morrigan was standing at the foot of the stairs, revolving slowly, taking in the whole scene. "The caster must have stood pretty much where Sandal is now. As he cast, those closest to him took the main force of the wave. Those that were behind them were shielded from the initial damage, but the residual shock of the wave stopped their hearts. But no mage could cast a spell to affect this many at once, it is simply not possible. And there can only have been one casting - none of them have moved, they all died at once."

"So, this has to have been the work of your mystery mage?" Loghain dropped the Darkspawn weapon he was examining on top of the hurlock who had been wielding it, and grimaced. "What you say fits with what I see here - none of the Darkspawn weapons are bloodied. Whatever killed them, they never got the chance to land a blow on him."

"I would assume that to be the case." Morrigan looked thoughful. "But where is the mage now? Tis clear that he cannot have been gone long, if the blood that is here is not dried?"

"Nobody has passed these stairs." Zevran was examining the treads. "Look at the bloodstains. There is splashing everywhere of the foul blood of those creatures, which is also still wet - and no footmarks upon it. Nobody has climbed these stairs since those creatures died."

"And nobody has left the room down the main stair." That was Loghain, examining the other door. "This room is barred from the inside - just as well that we did not attempt to climb the main staircase, we would never have got through this door. And certainly the back stair we used has not had anyone pass it "

"And there are no windows," Morrigan added. "If this mage was also a shifter, then there is no exit from this room even if he could fly. That upper door is barred from the inside too."

Muirnara threw up her hands in exasperation. "So where does that leave us? A locked room mystery with a mage who can somehow disappear into thin air? This is Ferelden, not some imaginary world in a bad adventure story! Nobody has left this room, so what other explanation is there?"

They looked at each other. Then slowly, as though all their eyes were being tugged in one direction, the gaze of three humans, one elf, and one Mabari fixed on Sandal.

"That is not possible. It just isn't. Dwarves cannot be mages." Morrigan's voice sounded shaken.

"Dwarves can't enchant weapons either, and Sandal has been our resident enchanter for over a year," Muirnara reminded her.

"Then why hasn't he done something like this before?" Morrigan was staring blankly at Sandal. "If he had cast so much as a tiny spell I would have sensed it. Or Wynne would have."

Leliana had walked back to the dwarf. "Sandal," her hand indicated the room, "did you do this?"

The dwarf smiled up at her in a slightly puzzled manner. "Enchantment?"

"It is no use, Leliana." Muirnara shook her head. "He never managed to tell us anything about how he did enchantments either. Even his father couldn't work it out. So if - and it's a very big if - he was responsible for the magic that killed all these Darkspawn, he probably has no idea of how he killed them. He may not even be aware that he did it. And that fits with what you said earlier, Morrigan, about this mage that was searching for something, and draining your mana in the process of the search. You described the mage as a lodestone, drawing mana to himself without any awareness of what he was doing."

Morrigan's eyes narrowed and she peered at the dwarf as though expecting him to turn into an abomination before her eyes. "So what if he has some spirit inside him that is enabling him to do this?"

"He can't, you know that." Loghain sounded weary. "Dwarves have no connection to the Fade, so they are safe from demons."

"Dwarves can't enchant weapons either," Morrigan returned, quoting Muirnara's words. "Whoever - whatever - Sandal is, tis clear that we cannot assume anything about him."

"And whoever or whatever he is," Loghain was now sounding completely exasperated, "it will have to wait. We have an army fighting and dying out there, and a crippled Archdemon on the roof. Up those steps, and get the bar down. There's more spawn beyond that door, and no more time for conversations that are going round in circles."

Morrigan bristled, but she did not argue, and they moved up the stairs to the doors. It took all of Loghain's strength to shift the bar, with help from both Muirnara and Zevran. Muirnara, glancing back at the room full of death and the stocky, placid shape of the dwarf by the stairs, thought there was yet another question that they hadn't answered. More than one question in fact.

_How did Sandal, alone, bar all the doors from within? He couldn't possibly have lifted this bar - or the one that is on the main doors. And why did he not bar the door to the back stairs, the one that we came through? Did he know that we were coming? Oh, Maker, the questions just get more and more confusing._

The door opened onto blackness, and a stomach-churning blast of Taint that even overcame the generalised assault on the senses that had been a constant companion since entering the city. She saw Loghain's jaw tighten and knew he sensed it too. "All of you, stay close. No lights. Get that door shut. There's some light in here at the top of the stairwell but the light behind us is killing our vision."

The door was pushed shut behind them, she wondered for a second if Sandal - or someone - would bar it again behind them. Then she dismissed the thought. One way or another, death was ahead of them and not behind.

As their eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, more dead bodies were visible everywhere, both Darkspawn and human. The impression was that the original defenders of Fort Drakon had been forced higher and higher in the fort until at last they fell, defending the last stairwell to the roof. Had any of them got out onto the roof? Not that it would have made much difference of course with the Archdemon out there.

They moved cautiously up the stairwell, the narrowness of the walls at least offering some security, then they came out onto the wide landing at the top of the stairs. Light filtered in from arrow slits high in the walls. The door to the roof, also barred, lay in front of them. It was all eerily quiet.

And then, without warning, all hell erupted. Darkspawn surged from the shadows from either side, and in an instant they were fighting for their lives. Loghain signalled and they moved back slightly to the edge of the stair, using the walls as shields but as fast as one Darkspawn fell, another took its place. They were being pushed backwards and knew it. Morrigan's heals bought them a little breathing space, but as a healer she was no Wynne, and the difference was starting to tell.

Then with a roar the dark shape behind the Darkspawn became an ogre and he was pressing into the front line as the numbers of Darkspawn seemed to thin. For some reason he had immediately focused on Muirnara and Loghain's attempts to draw him off were failing, he was hammering at her with club and fist and Loghain's earlier warnings about forcing a dagger to do a shield's work were ringing in her ears as time and again she only barely deflected the club. Then a blow passed her defences and knocked her to the floor. She heard Loghain's bellow and saw him frantically try to beat through the two hurlocks attacking him to get to her, saw the ogre's club raise and heard him cackle a hideous parody of laughter.

The club never connected. Wolf, already bleeding from a dozen cuts had launched himself over Muirnara's prone body and thrown himself at the ogre, an opponent over ten times his size. He had clearly aimed for the throat and missed his jump, his teeth sank instead into the arm holding the club and laid it open to the bone. The ogre shook him like a terrier shaking a rat, then smashed the Mabari's head hard against the wall of the stairwell and without so much as a whimper Wolf fell, tumbling backwards down the stairs. But he had bought them time. In the seconds he had given them, Zevran's poisoned daggers were in the ogre's back, and Leliana's sword in his guts, and with a final roar the monster was an unmoving heap on the ground, surrounded by the bodies of the other Darkspawn. The hallway was silent.

Muirnara struggled to her feet and threw herself down the stairwell after Wolf, dropping to her knees beside him. Amazingly he was still breathing and she shrieked for Morrigan. The witch joined her, followed by the others, but Morrigan's face held a grim pity. "Muirnara, he is dying. His head is smashed, his back is broken. Even if Wynne were here, and could heal him, he would never walk again. And I do not believe that even Wynne could do it."

"Cara mia," Zevran said quietly, "she is right."

Muirnara buried her face in Wolf's fur, blocking out reality, the fur still smelled of soap and warm dog, and of the last remnants of home. The dreadful snoring breathing reverberated through her head, and she finally wept, not caring who saw or what they thought of her.

Loghain's hand rested on her shoulder, and she saw only understanding in his eyes and a shared grief. "Muirnara, we have a choice, and it is no choice at all. We leave him here and we go on, or..." He left the rest of the sentence unfinished. There was no need to finish it. They all knew.

Muirnara scrubbed the back of her hand over her eyes. "My dagger is still in that damned-to-the-Pit ogre. Leliana, lend me a blade."

"Let me do it." Loghain was shaking his head. "There is no need to torture yourself like this. He will know nothing, I promise you."

There was fury in her eyes. "Loghain, if I could give the order to slay children with the Taint who came into our camp on the way to Denerim, I can surely manage to give mercy to my own dog."

"Neither of you should do it." That was Zevran. "Cara mia, all that is left is to end this. And you two in your own ways are both too close to him." His hand caressed the dog's fur. "Let me do this. However evil you may consider my training, believe at least that I can kill cleanly and fast. Let me do this, for both of you and for him."

Muirnara gave a sobbing breath and caressed Wolf one last time. "Do it."

Zevran's hand moved almost too swiftly to follow, a single dagger stroke under the ribcage and into the heart. The dog's body jerked once, then lay still, and the tortured breathing ceased.

She wanted to thank Zevran, but the words would not come. He looked at her. "Cara mia, should the need ever come, I would hope you would have the kindness to do the same for me as I did for him."

She nodded and struggled to her feet. Loghain, moving stiffly, lifted Wolf into his arms and carried him back up the stairwell, the others following. He laid the dog on his side on top of the carcase of the ogre. "There. He lies in as much honour as any Mabari ever earned." Loghain's tone was level. "When this is over, we will come back for him. Now, let us end it."

She looked at the door at the top of the stairs. "This Blight has taken enough now." Her voice was almost unrecognisible as her own, cold, hard and bitter. "Let us make an ending. Open the door."


	36. Chapter 36

They came out onto the roof in what would have been the fading light of a winter's day, if the seasons had not been abolished. But here the endless twilight caused by the Taint in the air was luridly illuminated to the east and north by the burning embers of the city, and waves of heat and smoke from those fires gusted up and over the tower. More bodies lay everywhere up here, both human and spawn. It was clear that the last of the fort's defenders had indeed retreated to the roof when all hope was gone. They had stood and died here, and the number of dead Darkspawn littering the roof said that they had stood valiantly. Some of the corpses of the spawn were days old, others were only a few hours dead and presumably had been felled by Riordan. There were no living spawn, nothing still lived up here with one exception.

The Archdemon stood at the far side of the roof, its damaged wing trailing with the fragmented mainsail sweeping the ground in dusty tatters. The great gouges in its flanks and belly from the battle with Flemeth seeped dark ichor that dripped down the livid scales and pooled onto the stone flags of the roof. The wounded dragon was backed into a corner of the roof, where the pinnacles still offered an illusion of shelter. Its mad eyes were firmly fixed on the party emerging from the stairwell. It did not move.

"Suggestions?" Loghain pulled his helm off and rubbed at a cut on his cheekbone that was trickling blood down inside the cheekguard. His eyes never left the looming shape of the Archdemon, but at present it was showing no signs of trying to advance on them.

Muirnara was also staring at their wounded enemy. "Whatever we do, it won't be the same as last time. The last two times if you include when we believed that we had killed Flemeth and hadn't."

"So, how did you manage it before?"

"We had Shale with us the first time. With her crystals in her skin, she had a lot of resistance to the flame breath of the dragon in the Frostbacks. She engaged its attention and kept stunning it by lobbing rocks at it. If I had thought we had a hope of getting here undetected with her in the party, I'd have brought her again, but it didn't seem likely, Shale doesn't sneak very well. Anyway," Muirnara went on, "that was really the nearest we came to anything resembling tactics on that fight. Shale stunned it, the rest of us shot arrows at it or threw magic at it. And then the second time was the fight with Flemeth and that was just ugly. We didn't have Shale that time, or Morrigan, so our chances of stunning it were close to nothing. Sten took most of the damage on that fight and it was all that Wynne could do to keep him on his feet."

Leliana was looking around the roof. "What about the ballistae? Could we make use of them?"

Loghain was shaking his head. "It would take too long to set up. That dragon is not mindless, it is wounded and exhausted, but the ballistae have no manoeuvrability, by the time we got one set up and ready to fire it would be on us."

He stared at their great enemy. "I can only see one possibility, and it relies on you two, Zevran and Leliana. And you will only get one shot, there will be no chance for a second one. I wouldn't even be suggesting this if I could see any alternative."

Zevran was studying the layout of the roof. "I can see what you have in mind. But it will be risky. I consider myself a good shot, and I will freely admit that Leliana is better than I am, but if it turns on either of us, this will not work."

"What do you have in mind?" Morrigan seemed puzzled.

"We have to blind it," Leliana explained. "And our only chance of that is to get a single arrow in each eye, simultaneously." She also seemed to be studying angles and possible places to stand. "Morrigan, do you think you could stun it? If only for a couple of seconds?"

"I would need to get closer to it, it is out of my current range." The witch looked about the roof. "And if it makes any move on me while I am trying to close in on it, you two will have lost the angle for the shot."

"So we need to draw its attention." Muirnara's voice was odd, light, almost mocking. "At least there is one part of this plan that isn't going to be difficult."

"Oh yes?" Loghain spared her a glance, she had a strange, fey smile on her face that owed nothing at all to amusement. "And just how do you plan to get its attention? Go and ask it politely to look this way?"

She looked him full in the face, and the madness in her eyes was nothing he had ever seen before in her; it seemed that Wolf's death had been the final blow that shattered the last fragile remnants of her sanity. "Yes. Actually, I was. Why not?"

And with that she was running across the roof and towards the shape of the bloodstained monster.

"Come back here, you bloody woman!" Loghain's bellow had no effect on Muirnara. He furiously turned on the elf and the bard. "Go! Get up there to left and right, on the parapet under the pinnacles. Wait for my signal. Don't even think of loosing early. When I get my hands on her..."

They parted and ran, and Loghain spared a glance for Morrigan, who was running along the edge of the wall, well away from Muirnara. He could hear Muirnara shouting at the great dragon, but the howling winds were taking the words away.

_Let the blade pass through the flesh,_

_Let my blood touch the ground,_

_Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice._

The Archdemon's head had swung round to observe Muirnara's small figure as she ran towards it. The Maker only knew whether it could hear a word she was saying, let alone understand, but at present its eyes were on her and not on the elf, the bard or the witch. She found that her own eyes were fixed on its whirling, crazed orbs, and her voice had taken on an odd sorrow. "I wanted to blame you for all of this," she told the dragon, in a shout which was only a little way away from a sob. "I wanted to blame you for the destruction of my homeland, for all the deaths, for everything. And I can't. Because you had as little choice in this as any of us. You sang, because that was what your nature made you do. And they heard you, because that is their nature, and they sought your song. And when they found you, their touch destroyed you. I could even pity you." Her voice raised to a scream. "But I am going to kill you just the same. Because this has to have an ending. Here. Now. Beneath this poisoned sky. If you have any knowledge of who you once were, Urthemiel, then in some corner of your mad brain you must weep for the beauty that has been destroyed in this land."

It seemed that those last words had indeed connected somewhere, because the Archdemon reared up with an agonised scream, roaring what might have been a denial to the heavens. Then the madness took it again, and the next scream was pure fury. The scaled head twisted forward, and the dragon's neck snaked into a lunging strike at its tiny tormentor.

As it struck down, Morrigan's spell took it full in the face. In the last fragments of Muirnara's mind that were still connected to Thedas, she heard Loghain bellow "Now," and the harpstring notes of two bowstrings released simultaneously. Then as the dragon shrieked its pain to the sky that it could no longer see, it turned again on her, blindly seeking whatever it could still attack. The Taint in her blood made her a beacon to it that no sight was needed for. She dived under its head and slashed upward with Starfang in an attempt to cut into the softer skin of the lower neck. The sword scored a line of black blood in its wake but failed to cut deep. And then she was falling as a furious sideswipe of the sightless head sent her tumbling to the stone flags of the flat roof.

Loghain saw it turn and in that moment he was running across the roof towards her. "Bloody woman!" The ringing in her ears made it hard to hear him. "Bloody, thoughtless, reckless, crazy woman!" As he reached the dragon it was turned slightly away from him, blindly seeking Muirnara, and his greater reach and Maric's sword achieved what she had failed to do. The sword bit deep into the side of the dragon's neck and it screamed, wrenching its head round to seek the new threat. It snapped at Loghain, the jaws closed on his mail clad shoulder and he was lifted into the air and thrown across the rooftop to crash down near the door they had entered by. The impact knocked the breath from his body, and as he tried to stand his leg gave way and he tumbled to the floor again with a roar of pain that rivalled that of the dragon.

Leliana and Zevran were frantically loosing arrows and bolts at the Archdemon's underbelly, they were doing little damage but were maddening it, it was snaking its blind head from left to right, loosing great blasts of corrupted fire that so far had come nowhere near connecting with either of its attackers. Morrigan had swung round to look at Loghain, he furiously gestured her back to the dragon. "My leg's broken, and you're not a good healer. For the love of the Maker, get back to her!"

Muirnara was struggling back to her feet as he spoke, and Morrigan attempted to land another stun. This seemed to have little effect but the dragon turned again, and Muirnara took the opportunity to climb up onto some of the fallen masonry that had been dislodged by a previous strike. She stood there, silhouetted against the flaming sky, and then with her own scream of pain and fury she leapt for the Archdemon's head, landing hard on the back of its neck just behind the great spines that projected from the skull. Loghain had no idea whether this had been her intention from the start but as she landed he saw her raise Starfang above her head, a shaft of blue flame against the red glow, and then drive it down, two handed, behind the skull. Whether any other sword ever forged could have done it was uncertain, but the starmetal blade cleaved scales and flesh and bone and sank to the hilt in the body of the dying Archdemon.

To Leliana and Zevran and Morrigan, watching from the parapet around the roof it seemed that an unearthly light had shot up from the dragon in a column reaching to the sky, pure white and so brilliant that they were forced to shield their eyes and look away from it. Loghain, still lying on the floor could see that the light not only soared up from the dead Archdemon but downward as well, penetrating the floor, a beacon sinking into the depths of the earth as well as soaring to the heavens. The tiny figure of Muirnara was barely visible within the column of light, seen only as a shadow of a woman with her hands still fixed on the hilt of the sword. Loghain could also sense a movement in the Taint like a tidal wave radiating outwards, the sky was clearing around the light, and the force that had directed the Darkspawn had gone. Without seeing it, he knew that the remaining spawn were running, and that they were dying as they ran, tiny tainted lives winking out of existence like bubbles popping. He tried to drag himself forward towards the dragon on his hands and Morrigan was suddenly there, supporting him and scolding him as if she was an echo of Wynne. Zevran had taken one step towards the light and stopped, unable to go on.

To Muirnara, it was like a whirlwind was spinning her in place. With the last fragments of her failing senses she was dimly aware that she was actually frozen in place with her hands linked around Starfang's hilt and the blood of the Archdemon streaming over them, but her mind insisted that this was not the case, that she was being spun in circles with a force that could rip a body apart, that a wind that both froze and burned was tearing through her and she was simultaneously both ice and fire. Her mouth opened and she screamed, and the scream tore into the sky with as much power as the light which held her.

Then the darkness took her, and abruptly she was...elsewhere.


	37. Chapter 37

She was standing on sand. Glittering golden sand that reminded her of the beaches of Highever's bay glowing in the midsummer sun. Being taken to the beach on her pony was a rare treat in the summer when she was a small child, she remembered clinging to the saddle, bouncing up and down with excitement while the horses negotiated the steep path down to the sea. Her father, mounted on that big chestnut horse he always rode and holding the leading rein of her plump skewbald pony would laugh at her excitement. Her mother behind them would be fussing over Fergus who was usually showing off to impress his sister. Those memories were a pure joy, carefully laid away as a treasure in the mind to be smiled over when a quiet time permitted.

But this sand was cold. She picked up a handful of it and ran it through her fingers. Not as cold as ice, but chilled. No sun had ever warmed this, and when she looked up it was clear that the sky above her was black as night, and the pinpoints of stars glittered in it, strange constellations that had never graced Ferelden's night sky. She glanced back down and her brow furrowed. This sand was...moving. Whenever she looked firmly at one patch of it, it was still. But out of the corner of her eye the grains shifted against each other, and when she listened carefully there was a constant soft susurrus of sand, moving, disappearing...falling?

She turned in a slow circle trying to see the borders of the sand. They stretched in all directions in a smooth plane to a horizon, but there were indications that there was indeed a physical boundary. Instead of the black sky meeting the gold sand there was an almost invisible boundary wall, clear as water or glass, with only the occasional glitter of light reflecting off it...and just where was this light coming from that illuminated the sand? The sand grains shone as golden as they would have been under a midday sun, but no light came down from those cold stars, and the sky looked as though it had never known a sunrise. No sun would grace this vault until the end of time.

And she was not alone. A figure was walking across the sand towards her, and now her mind finally had proof that the sands were indeed moving. His footprints were clear, but as he passed the sands were covering them, and the surface was left as smooth as though nobody had ever walked that way. There was something unclear about this man, if indeed he was a man? His image changed every time she looked at him, appearing firstly as a human figure of almost unearthly beauty, but from his shoulders sprang a pair of iridescent wings, the length of his body and trailing out behind him to form their own marks on the ground that the shifting sands diligently covered. His hands and feet were covered in gleaming dragonscale boots and gauntlets - no, they weren't gauntlets, those scales were part of him? Then the vision shifted again and what was walking there was a wingless dragon, crimson scaled and red eyed. Then it shifted again. She shook her head, trying to make sense of what she saw.

The man? dragon? spoke, and his voice chimed like the notes of a harp. "Don't even try to make sense of it, Muirnara. You will not manage it. For a short time it has been given to you to see more clearly than most mortals. But you are still mortal, and your mind cannot process that which is not subject to time, while you yourself still stand within it."

"You are Urthemiel"

"I am."

"I see." Muirnara was now trying to make sense of her own memories. "I killed you. That much I am sure of. And yet you are here. And so am I. Does that then mean that I am also dead? Or dying?"

"Yes. You are dying." Urthemiel sounded amused. "You are dying as you have been every day from your birth. As every mortal creature does. One day at a time. If you are asking me whether you will die here and now, well, in this place that is very much up to you and not to me."

"Is this the Fade?"

"You perhaps could say that. It is not the Fade as you know it, as you walked it to save the Circle of Mages. It might be more true to say that this is your own Fade. You have created this, so this is the truth as you see it. Whether I see the same as you do, or whether any other Warden would have seen this the same way is a question that I am afraid I cannot answer."

Muirnara studied her surroundings again, and suddenly realisation dawned. "This is an hourglass." She was speaking almost in a whisper. "I see this as an hourglass."

"Do you?" Urthemiel sounded surprised. "Then your vision and mine here are not so dissimilar. I see most of time as an hourglass, the sand falling slowly away. But this is not my hourglass, this is yours. You have created this, so this is clearly how you have seen your deeper reality for a long time."

"The other Wardens who killed Archdemons. Did they come here?"

"Again, the answer is both yes and no. They certainly came to their own portions of the Fade, to confront the Old God that they had slain. But their inner visions were different from yours and what they found here was also different."

"I was told..." Muirnara paused and swallowed, the air here was very dry. "I was told that the soul of a Grey Warden was destroyed utterly when they slew an Archdemon, as was the soul of the Archdemon. That is why we were told that it has to be a Grey Warden that takes that blow."

"Then whoever told you that was mistaken. Nothing that is created is ever destroyed. It may be changed but not destroyed. To do so would destroy the universe entire. Does not your Chant of Light tell you this?" He paused and quoted from the Canticle of Trials.

**"Though all before me is shadow,**

**Yet shall the Maker be my guide.**

**I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond.**

**For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light**

**And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost. "**

"I see." Muirnara considered this. "Then what happened to the other Wardens who came here?"

"They found something different to what you have found. The difference is based in what was in their hearts when they came here. They came here in anger, in grief, in despair, and their anger, grief and despair was waiting for them here. Do you wonder then that when they realised that they had the choice here to go on, or to go back, none of them chose to go back? What could they possibly have gone back to? Not everyone chooses to become a Grey Warden, your order should know better than to accept conscripts. You can force men to act in a certain way, you cannot change their hearts. But as for you." He paused. "You were not conscripted, you chose. However bleak your choices, whatever the circumstances of your choices, you still chose. And when you faced me at last, you pitied me. And because of the pity you felt, we are talking now. None of the others ever talked to their Archdemon. They came here, and they went on."

"So, if it is not by the mutual destruction of two souls, how is it then that a Grey Warden prevents an Archdemon's soul transferring into the nearest Darkspawn?"

"By making of himself a beacon, to lead the Archdemon here." Urthemiel gestured around. "Here, within the safety of the Fade, away from the Darkspawn and from the Taint, the Archdemon is the Old God again, freed, clear minded, and able to make their own choice. But you have set me a second beacon. I came here first, but this is not my final destination. As indeed it was not for one of my brothers before me."

Muirnara shivered. "Morrigan's ritual...you are saying that it has been done before? That an Old God has been reborn that way before?"

"I am."

"Who? When?"

"I could tell you, but there would be very little point. If you choose to go back when this is all over then you will not remember - any more than you remember most dreams. And if you choose not to go back, and go on instead, then you will not care."

"So, if I am not dead, and I go back, I will remember nothing of what happened here?"

"Probably not. It is always possible that some small part of this may return to you as a memory when you least expect it." Urthemiel sighed, and in as far as the Old God could be said to have any expression on his face at all, he looked...worried. "I could wish it were otherwise. Because if you return there are other problems you will have to deal with when you go back. But no matter what I tell you, it will be blind chance whether you remember any of it, or if you do indeed remember, whether you will act on that memory or think it purely a dream."

"I see."

Urthemiel reached out and touched her face, and the touch burned with cold, like ice. She shivered but did not move away. "The part that I wish that it were possible for you to remember is this. Listen to me well, and then there is some hope this might remain with you. It concerns the Architect."

She was silent. He went on. "The Architect seeks to find a middle ground, a way in which human and Darkspawn can coexist. The aim is admirable, but his attempts before to achieve this have been both futile and destructive. And the fact that they have been futile will not prevent him trying again. You will confront him again, Muirnara, sooner or later. The great tragedy is that what he seeks is not impossible, but it is impossible by the means which he is attempting. For what he wants, it will take centuries, even millennia, and the seed for the success has already been sown, but the potential for him to cause it to fail is also there. When the time comes, you will realise of what I speak. I wish it was possible to tell you more. But I am fading. The beacon you set for me back in your own world is calling me, it is taking all the strength I have to remain here, and that strength is not enough."

She gazed at him. "Do you hate me for making that choice? For drawing you back?"

"Hate? No, I do not hate you. As I said, this is not the first time it has been done. And what have you done, after all? You will see a god carried under the heart of a woman, and born as a helpless infant. This is not the first time that one of the great truths has been played out, in this world or any other. What becomes of this infant later is yet to be. You did as you saw best, no more than that can be asked of any mortal or indeed any god. Only One stands outside all time and all universes and sees the whole pattern, and knows all consequences." He smiled for the first time, although he now seemed ethereal to her, a ghost of his former solid presence. "None of those of us you called the Old Gods ever claimed omnipotence. We are not that arrogant."

He was now barely a shimmer of light amongst the shifting sands. Frantically she asked him the one remaining question in her mind. "What do I do now?"

His voice was a shadow of sound in the susurrus of the sand. "Go forward or go back. It is your choice, not mine. Love waits for you, Muirnara, whichever direction you decide. An hourglass by its very nature embodies choice. You can wait for the sands to run out, and time to end. Or you can turn the hourglass."

Then there was silence, apart from the endless whisper of falling sand.

She looked around again, at the never-still sands, the starlit sky. There was a temptation there. She could feel a tugging from those stars, somehow she knew that beyond them was all she had lost, all those she had loved, and a greater, deeper Love that held all of them. It would be so easy just to let go, to forget time, to be at peace. But she was stubborn, and that stubbornness had served her well, and there was other love calling, softer but no less urgent. A moment of indecision passed, and then she made a tiny gesture with one hand.

_This is my realm and my creation. It is obedient to my thought. Perhaps this is how a mage feels all the time._

**And obedient to that tiny gesture, the hourglass turns, in a cascade of shattered glass and golden grains of falling sand, and she is freed.**


	38. Chapter 38

_**Author's note - As most of you were probably aware, I was working all the Origins into this story, and one of the two remaining Origins makes an appearance here. To any of you who think he's slightly familiar - you're right. To those of you that don't recognise him, go and find Enaid Aderyn's story Mabari and Magus :) Sabhya Amell makes a cameo here by kind permission of Enaid :)**_

 

_**  
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This wasn't her bed.

This really, really wasn't her bed. Her bedroll in camp had never been this...soft. Her bed at Highever had not been this wide. The bed she had shared with Loghain at Redcliffe had not had silk sheets. This wasn't her bed. She idly tried to pluck at the silk with her fingers and gave up, firstly because it hurt to move her hands, secondly because it appeared that said hands were encased in bandages anyway.

_Bandages? But I didn't hurt my...oh..._

As consciousness and memory started to creep back, she slowly forced her eyes open, blinking against clots of dust and dried tears in her eyelashes and tried to make sense of the room she was in. This had to be the palace in Denerim, she remembered those high, vaulted ceilings with the carven beams, and there was some familiarity about this place after all. That mural on the wall, of knights and ladies on a deer hunt in some gentler Age, was a friend from her childhood. This was the court apartment in the palace that had always been given as a courtesy to the Teyrn of Highever. Clearly Howe had never had time to redecorate it. She turned her head to take a closer look at the painting.

A man's quiet voice that she did not know spoke from the other side of the bed. "Someone go and tell General Loghain she's awake."

She tried to turn her head towards the speaker and the movement made her wince. A hand immediately supported her shoulders as she pushed herself into a sitting position against the pillows and she managed thanks, which became more heartfelt as a cool drink was pressed to her lips. She was already taking stock of her injuries with a soldier's long practice, her muscles ached but it felt like the stiffness of long immobility, there was no damage there. She could see now that both her arms were swathed in soft bandages to above the elbows. The empty cup was taken away and a soft damp cloth was wiped over her face, cleaning her sore eyes. She was about to take a closer look at her helper when suddenly she heard familiar footsteps in the passageway. Not quite familiar, there was a stiffness and unevenness to the gait, but there was no need to look at the door as it opened to know who was there.

_Loghain_

In three strides he was at the edge of the bed, sat down and pulled her into his arms, into a rough hug. "Never, ever do that to me again, you bloody woman." The words were muffled in her hair, and she could feel his shoulders shaking with more than the effort of holding her.

_Loghain...crying? The world surely must have been broken and remade anew._

Her voice was not going to obey her, but she forced words out, her tone rough and cracked from a disused throat. "I don't remember..." She tried to put a hand to her forehead and dropped it again with a wince. "I remember the Archdemon, the light...but there was something else I had to remember, and I can't..."

"Small wonder if you are confused, my lady...Warden Commander." That was the other man. She took a proper look at him this time, while he carefully unwound the bandages that bound her arms. He was very short, shorter than Leliana, with a shaved head and a neat goatee beard. The pendant around his neck marked him as a Harrowed mage, but instead of the normal Circle robes he wore a tunic and a loose pair of trousers. "You have been unconscious now for nearly ten days."

"Ten days!" Muirnara was appalled. "But how in the name of the Maker..."

Loghain took up the tale - if he had indeed been crying there was now no trace of it in his voice. "The Legion of the Dead burst onto the roof not five minutes after you struck down the Archdemon. None of us had been able to approach you...well, I was out of action at that point with a broken leg," he added, "and none of the others had been able to take more than a step in your direction, the light was holding them back. And then suddenly the light was gone, and you were lying beside the Archdemon, with terrible burns on your hands and arms. We thought you were both dead."

There was a edge of remembered pain in his voice. "Morrigan got to you first and said you were breathing, but all she could do was lay poultices over the burns to protect them. The Legion got us both onto stretchers and carried us back through the tunnels to the Westgate camp and the healers. Wynne healed my leg, but your burns resisted any form of magical healing so they had to be dressed with salves and left for your body to do what it could."

That was something else she had been trying to remember. "The others? Are they all right? What happened to Morrigan?"

Loghain's hand gently stroked her hair. "All the others are well. Oghren took some injuries in the Westgate defence, but he is well healed now. I last saw Morrigan on the roof of Fort Drakon. As they carried us away, she was standing on the parapet, watching you - and then she became a hawk and flew, westwards towards the Frostback Mountains. None of us have seen her again."

The little mage had managed to remove the bandages and she took a look at her arms. Rough, crimson scar tissue covered both palms and curved up towards her elbows - the mage however seemed pleased. "The blistering has all gone now, Warden Commander. I will not put the bandages back but you are to continue to have them checked by a healer twice a day, and this salve must be smeared on the scar tissue at least four times a day." He was gently working the pale green ointment into her skin, it seemed to cool wherever it touched. "No weapons practice for several weeks, nor any other activity which might damage the healing skin." He paused, and there was some pity in his voice. "While with luck you will get full use of your hands back within a relatively short space of time, it is my professional opinion that the scarring is permanent. It will fade with time, but it will always be visible."

Loghain had gently taken one of her hands and touched the rough skin lightly. "My love, if you bear scars on these hands lifelong, then all I can say is that you should wear those scars as the greatest accolade that could ever be awarded to you."

"But ten days?" Muirnara could not make sense of the time.

"They could not waken you. Wynne eventually told them just to treat the burns and keep you under observation. Avernus turned up about three days ago, and he has been handling the Warden side - some Orlesian Wardens made it to Denerim at roughly the same time."

"Avernus is here?" Muirnara cast an eye at the little mage, but the man had tactfully withdrawn to the far side of the chamber and appeared to be out of earshot.

"He is. And it is just as well that he is. I would not have had any idea how to answer half of the questions that they are asking. Avernus got the basic story out of me, including the details about Morrigan. He tut-tutted for a while at me, and has been telling a set of thoroughly convincing lies to them." There was some grim amusement in his voice. "Avernus appears to have the same opinion of Orlesian Wardens that I have of Orlesians in general. I never thought I would find myself in agreement with that old mage on anything."

"So what has he told them?"

"Well, they first wanted to know why you weren't dead. Avernus told them that in the heat of the battle it was quite impossible to know just which Warden had struck the death blow, and it was his opinion that Riordan had mortally wounded the creature before you struck it down, and therefore Riordan's soul had been destroyed doing it. They didn't like the explanation, but given how badly Riordan's body was burned when the soldiers from Fort Drakon retrieved it the story could not possibly be disproved. Their next bright idea was that I should report to Montsimmard to give this report to the Warden Commander of Orlais in person..."

"Oh no!"

"Don't worry, Muirnara. Avernus and my daughter headed that one off between them. Avernus quoted to them the law that you once quoted to me, about command in the Wardens in time of Blight." He repeated the quote to her. "In time of Blight, and in the Thaw that immediately follows Blight, the authority within the Wardens of a Blighted nation lies with the Commander of the Grey within that nation. He may delegate some of that authority to others, but the ultimate command is his, and any Warden entering that land during Blight or Thaw is under his command, regardless of comparative seniority of service. Therefore the only person in Ferelden who could ratify that order would be you, and you were plainly unable to do so. And then Anora added that given there were only three Fereldan Wardens in the whole country, as Queen of Ferelden she was most reluctant to see any of those three leave, and given the shaky relations that the Crown and the Wardens of Ferelden had had in the past, she was quite sure that the First Warden in Weisshaupt would entirely understand the problem when she sent a messenger to him."

_Well, what a perfect way of saying "Your order was barred from this country for two hundred years. Push us, and it could happen again..."_

Loghain seemed amused. "Anyway, after that, they backtracked on the request so fast that I'm surprised they didn't leave scorch marks in the carpet. Two of them left yesterday with Riordan's ashes, to be taken to Weisshaupt. The other one is still here and very politely requested to talk to you when you came round, if it was not too much of an inconvenience, and when you were feeling better. Wynne equally politely told him that by the middle of next week, it might be possible to have a short talk with you, and at present the whole thing is resting there."

A knock came on the door and a rather annoyed Templar put his head round the door. "Enchanter Amell? Knight Commander Gregoir's compliments, and can you meet him in the rose garden at your earliest convenience." The tone of voice suggested that if it had not been for the presence of the two Wardens, that the request might have been worded somewhat differently. "Your Mabari is causing trouble."

Enchanter Amell nodded, packing away the discarded bandages. "Excuse me please, Wardens." As he walked towards the door and the Templar he sighed. "Please don't tell me he's chased Her Majesty's cat up a tree again?"

"Not this time." The Templar held the door for the mage to pass. "He was indeed chasing the cat. The Knight Commander tried to intervene. He's now got the Knight Commander up a tree, and the Knight Commander is not a happy man. Not at all."

The little mage seemed resigned. "I'll talk to him."

The door closed, and Muirnara and Loghain were alone.

But the mention of the mage's Mabari had triggered a remembered grief in her mind. "Wolf. They brought the body back, didn't they? He didn't get left in Fort Drakon?"

"No, Muirnara, he wasn't left. Leliana and Zevran carried him back between them on another stretcher. We cremated him separately on the hill overlooking Denerim, and all of us were there. The ashes were collected and put in an urn, and kept so that you could tell us what you wanted done when you came round." He took the Mabari's collar out of his pocket and placed it in her hand.

Tears were trickling down her cheeks but she paid them no heed, clenching her fist around the collar and ignoring the pain. "I will need to take the ashes back to Highever, if it is now free of Howe's people. Our Mabari were always buried in the castle orchard, both Wolf's sire and dam are buried there, and we will need to plant a tree for him."

"Muirnara, you will not be fit to ride a horse for weeks yet. I thought that you would want something like that, and I have found you someone who will take them for you and see your wishes carried out."

Her voice was frantic. "I have to do this myself. I don't want someone else to do it."

He gently lifted her back down onto the bed. "Muirnara, I don't think you will mind this messenger doing this for you." Ignoring her protests he walked over to the door and opened it.

And Fergus Cousland walked into the room.


	39. Chapter 39

"It can't be you." Muirnara's voice was a disbelieving whisper. "This is the Fade, I am still dreaming, this can't be real."

"Little sister, it is indeed me." Fergus walked across the room and came to sit on Muirnara's bed. He looked older, thinner, sorrow had etched lines into his face that had not been there when she had wished him farewell from Highever, a year and a half ago. Was it truly only a year and a half? It seemed like several lifetimes. A long scar trailed down his cheek, tugging upwards at the corner of his mouth so that it seemed his lips were permanently quirked in a half smile. There was silver in the hair at his temples that she did not remember. But his eyes were the same, glowing hazel and at this moment full of joy. He took the collar from her hands and laid it beside her. "I said something very similar though when they told me that my baby sister had survived the Highever massacre, that she was a Grey Warden, and that she was raising the armies to defend Ferelden against the Blight. So if this is a Fade dream, we are both sharing it, and it is remarkably realistic."

_I still don't think I can quite believe this_

Her disbelief was still showing on her face. Fergus touched her cheek gently, then ran his fingers through her hair. "Muir, how can I convince you? I could tell you all the embarrassing stories of our childhood that I am sure Loghain here would love to hear." Over Fergus's shoulder she could see Loghain smile. "Would that convince you? I could start with the one about you and the Mabari kennel, and that pot of green paint, and you..."

"No!" The exclamation was out of her mouth before she could stop it, and both men laughed.

Fergus twisted one of her short curls. "I could remind you that Father threatened to tan your backside for you if you ever cut off your own hair again."

"In that case," Loghain added, "Bryce would have had to take it up with me. Since I cut her hair. Admittedly though, it was to prevent her attacking it herself with a dagger blade. So who holds the guilt in that case?"

"Oh Muir. Definitely Muir." Fergus ruffled her hair affectionately. "I don't believe anyone alive ever managed to get Muir to do something she really didn't want to do."

Muirnara was becoming aware that the two men must have talked extensively in the lost ten days. They seemed relaxed in each other's company. Fergus seemed aware of the attachment between her and Loghain and by his joking conversation was giving it his tacit approval.

_Maybe I do have to believe all this is real, after all. But if this is real, then why can I remember nothing of the last ten days? And why do I have this belief that something important happened in that time? Oh Maker, this is confusing._

Loghain turned towards the door to relieve a servant of the tray he was carrying. He brought it over and placed it on Muirnara's lap, it contained soup, fresh bread and a bowl of some sort of milk pudding. "Anyway, you can eat this while it's still hot. Maybe then you'll manage a conversation where you listen more than you talk, and that would be a miracle worthy of disbelief in itself."

She wrinkled her nose at him, he chuckled. But she picked up the soup spoon. "Fergus, assuming this isn't a dream - just how are you here?"

"Long story, Muir, and to be quite frank I can't make sense of all of it myself." Fergus accepted the cup of wine that Loghain passed to him. "I was on patrol outside Ostagar at the time of the Darkspawn attack, we had had scout reports of spawn movements far south of the fortress. The movements turned out to be a feint, by the time we realised this the main Darkspawn assault had started. We were working our way back north in an attempt to rejoin our small unit to Teyrn Loghain's forces when we were ambushed."

Muirnara's hand was shaking uncontrollably as she tried to get the soup spoon to her mouth, her muscles seemed as weak as water. Loghain came to sit beside her and steadied her hand. She was shaky enough to be grateful to him, and still more grateful that he didn't just take the spoon out of her hand and feed her like a child, there was a limit to how much embarrassment she could cope with.

Fergus continued. "Forty or fifty Darkspawn appeared from nowhere. There were twelve of us in the scouting party. We thought that was the end for all of us, and then something very strange happened. They started to back away. We couldn't see what they were afraid of, but we weren't waiting around to find out. I was looking around, trying to spot a direction in which we could run, and suddenly we saw this old Chasind woman beckoning to us. She led us through the swamps for what seemed like days, and finally we came to a village. The Chasind headman seemed afraid of the old woman, whatever she told him about us he agreed. They kept us there for months. Most of us were badly injured, some had Blight sickness and nothing could be done for them except a friend's voice to ease the end and a swift dagger to the heart." The pain of those deaths was still in his eyes. "The Chasind told us that the battle had been lost and that the army was destroyed. Other stragglers found their way there - the Chasind apparently had their orders from this old woman to bring in any that they found. The mage who has attended you through most of the last few days - he was one of the survivors from the army. So was that crazy Mabari of his, though I don't think he was the dog's original handler - it imprinted on him during the time he was treating its injuries."

Fergus smiled wryly. "I remember thinking 'rather him than me' - that dog was completely insane from the moment it was brought in. Even the Chasind shamans refused to handle it. He spent most of his free time with it. By the time we left the village, the pair were inseparable."

Muirnara and Loghain's eyes had met while Fergus was telling his story. The same name hung unspoken between them

_Flemeth. Again._

Muirnara finished the soup and bread, and pushed away the rather bland bowl of milk pudding. Loghain firmly put the spoon in her hand and pushed the bowl back towards her. She sighed and started eating again. "So when did you get back to Denerim?"

A shadow crossed Fergus's face. "Word came to me while I was still with the Chasind, of Howe's treachery, of the death of our parents and of Oren and Oriana." He paused. "I was nearly as far out of my mind as that Mabari at that point. I wanted to go north, to call a Landsmeet, to round up an army to assault Highever and slaughter that filthy bastard Howe - the Chasind healers pointed out that I still could not walk fifty yards without help, and that the Wilds were teeming with Darkspawn, there was no sense at all in adding one more Cousland corpse to the tally. We stayed until one day their scouts brought word that there were almost no Darkspawn to be seen in the Wilds at all, they had mostly drawn off to the south. They told us that if we struck directly northeast through the outskirts of the Brecilian Forest that we would have a fighting chance of getting back to the road for Denerim without more than skirmishes. There were roughly fifty of us by then, including three mages, we thought it was worth a try. We came to Denerim about three days after you left it, to find that a Landsmeet had already been called, that Howe was dead at the hands of my little sister, that Teryn Loghain had been defeated in a duel by that same little sister, and that the country was preparing for war. I really did not know what to do at that point. Then Cauthrien came to me."

His voice was respectful when he named her. "That is a woman in a thousand. In ten thousand. She was readying the city for a siege with a fraction of the troops or the supplies she needed. At that point nobody knew where the horde was or where it was likely to strike. If any of us had realised the implications of the Darkspawn passing south in the Wilds we might have made a better guess where the Archdemon was likely to appear, but none of us knew. Cauthrien said that Loghain had always taught her that you prepare for the worst case that you can imagine, and then that any surprise you get is a good one. As the Bannorn levies came into Denerim she was holding back a tithe of their numbers before sending them on to Redcliffe, usually the most inexperienced ones and the oldest veterans, maybe a twentieth of each unit. Then she was assigning each novice to one of the veterans with the orders "You've got two weeks to teach him all you know." They laughed, but they followed her orders. It saved the city. Denerim could never have held out without them."

"That is a woman in a hundred thousand." Loghain was nodding all the way through the story. "So when the attack finally came, she sent you with Alistair to cover the evacuation?"

"She did. We secured the docks as best we could, but we had constant incursions over the gates and along the dock walls. As long as the Archdemon did not come our way we could keep the spawn off the docks themselves, but when that bloody dragon came we were hard pressed. The Dalish archers were a gift from the Maker, for the first time we could actually hold it off the boats that were docking and leaving. But we knew we were fighting a losing battle, that sooner or later we were going to be overwhelmed. We were counting our lives out not by minutes but by boats, telling ourselves that we could hold on long enough to load five more boats, ten, fifteen. Less than half of Alistair's people were still standing, we had no way of caring for wounded. We couldn't even put the wounded on the boats because we knew we were never going to evacuate much more than half the women and children - to give a place on a boat to a badly wounded man was to condemn a child to death." The agony of the choices was still in his voice. "Then we saw that light strike into the sky from the top of Fort Drakon, and we thanked the Maker for a miracle. At that point we still did not know what had happened, only that no more Darkspawn came."

All three of them were silent for a minute. Loghain took Muirnara's empty food tray and set it on the floor. Fergus picked up Wolf's collar and handed it back to Muirnara. "I will take Wolf's ashes back to Highever, little sister. He will lie beside Father's old mabari Dusk, and grandfather's Badger, and his own sire and dam. And we will plant him a plum tree on his grave in the spring. When you next come to Highever it will be there and you can see it."

She wanted to thank him but her throat had closed again on all the tears still unshed. Fergus kissed her cheek lightly. "I will see you again before you come to Highever though. We are taking our people to start the rebuilding work there, but once that is well started I will come back to Denerim. A Landsmeet has been called in a month's time at the start of the spring which I will need to be present for. And I believe there is a wedding planned for the day before that Landsmeet?"

"Assuming we've got the Chantry rebuilt by then," Loghain interjected. "At present it is still a roofless shell."

Fergus laughed. "The pair of you have many willing hands to help rebuild. I've lost count of the number of soldiers who have told me they're coming to the wedding. Your wedding party will cover the whole of the Market district."

He left, and Loghain went over to the coffer chest by the wall, pulling out of it a clean shirt and breeches. "Right, you've sat and moped in that bed for long enough. I'm going to help you dress, and then we are going down to the kennels."

Her eyes flashed a mixture of anger and distress at him, which he completely ignored. "There are dozens of injured and sick Mabari there, and not a fraction of the people needed to nurse them. The healers are overworked as it is, caring for the wounded soldiers, the Ash Warriors have had no healing magic for any but the worst injured dogs. You aren't allowed to do anything strenuous, by the orders of your own healers, but you can sit and work salve into healing burns - probably quite good for your hands as well. You can feed orphaned puppies from bottles, there are two litters there without dams. And you can talk to the Mabari who lost their imprinted handlers and are lying in their kennels willing themselves to die. I think you might have a few things to say to them."

She was shaking her head, he ignored that too, buttoning up her shirt as though dressing a small child. "It's like falling off a horse, Muirnara. You don't wait for months to get back on again. Nor do you climb back onto the most fiery charger in the stables. You get on a gentle old palfrey and go out for an hour's walk."

"Did I ever tell you that I hate you being right so often?"

"Many times, my love. It isn't going to change, so you are going to have to learn to live with it."


	40. Chapter 40

"You know, it's odd you should have used that metaphor about getting back into the saddle after falling off."

The two of them were walking along the corridor that led to the kennels. Loghain paused and looked at Muirnara curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I never did tell you that one of the reasons I had no regrets about walking everywhere in the last year and a half, is that I really am afraid of horses these days?"

"You are?" That seemed to surprise Loghain. "Why?"

She sighed. "It's a very long story. Ask me at a quiet time. I can hear those Mabari barking already."

The kennels was every bit as chaotic as Loghain had described. Three Ash Warriors appeared to by trying to care for over forty Mabari and the stress was showing. None of the three men seemed remotely bothered by the sudden appearance of the two Grey Wardens in their midst, any extra pair of hands was a benison to be taken with gratitude. The oldest of the three, a grizzled veteran with scars all over his arms, had a plump puppy in his arms and was feeding it from a leather bottle with a makeshift teat. The pup at least appeared healthy and was guzzling at the milk. It was clearly a very young pup whose eyes were not yet open, this was apparently one of the orphans which Loghain had described.

On Loghain's inquiry as to what two extra pairs of hands could do to help, they were immediately directed to a block of kennels where four Mabari lay, one to a kennel, unmoving. The end kennel was empty. Loghain's eyes immediately went to it. "I thought you had five dogs in here."

"Amber died last night." The warrior's tones were matter of fact, but there was grief on his face. "I thought we were going to pull her through - her wounds were healing, but she just gave up and stopped eating. She didn't want to live without Sarro." He wiped some spilled milk off the pup's face. "If we had these dogs back home then an imprinted one who had lost a handler would never be left alone to grieve, but there just aren't enough of us here."

Loghain nodded. "What do you want us to do?"

"There's salves on the shelf, Warden. Get the cuts and burns treated again on them, we're already late with those today but the puppies all take so long to feed. Coax them to eat if you can, but don't leave the food in there, offer it again in an hour. Brush them if they'll let you." He pointed at the kennel at the other end of the block. "And Hazel's puppy will need another bottle of milk, but don't take him out of the kennel to do it, she'll take your arm off."

"I thought you kept the puppies over the other side?"

"Hazel's only got the one pup. She sickened on Darkspawn blood while she was in whelp and the litter was born dead apart from this one. Then she lost her milk. Her handler was killed at the Westgate, and I think the only reason that she hasn't given up like Amber is because of the puppy. We ought to have tried to foster it onto another bitch with milk, we have a litter that age here, but if we took him from her then she'd probably be dead in a day. We can't even take him out of the kennel to feed him, she gets too distressed."

He passed another leather bottle to Loghain, who immediately passed it to Muirnara. "You feed the pup, you're better off with a task that you can sit down to do at present. Too much bending over and you'll be throwing all that milk pudding back up again, and I'll be forced to make you eat another bowlful. And I saw just how enthusiastic you were about the first one."

While she was still trying to think about a suitable retort he collected some poultices and a pot of foul smelling ointment from the shelf and made his own way into the second kennel. She sighed and walked into the first one, speaking quietly to the bitch who lay unmoving with her eyes shut, a silent lump of misery pressed against the back wall. One eye opened in alarm as she lifted the puppy into her arms and sat down with him, but once the bitch was satisfied that no attempt was being made to steal her offspring, she closed her eye again.

The puppy was hungry, he snatched at the teat and nearly drowned himself in the resulting flood of milk when the nipple came off the bottle. She reattached it and settled him in the crook of her arm, where she could use one hand to control both pup and bottle. Her other hand gently stroked the rough fur on the bitch's neck, and she swallowed against the lump in her throat as memories of Wolf assailed her again. But the memories were good ones - Wolf as a puppy put into her teenage arms, not a lot older than the one she was feeding now. Wolf standing in pride over the carcass of a boar that they had brought down on a hunt near Highever, their first kill without assistance. Wolf curled outside her tent in the camp on an autumn night, one eye open in case a rabbit came along. Wolf as he had lived.

Loghain had moved away to the kennel furthest from her, and she spoke quietly to the bitch, soft enough that he could not hear. "There was a time that I felt like you, you know." Her hand circled on the fur - darker than Wolf's had been, this bitch was rich chestnut in colour. "When I felt that everything that I loved had been taken from me, that everyone I cared about was gone, that there was nothing worth living for." Her fingers found a snarl in the coat, gently teased it out and smoothed the fur. "I stood at the edge of a black pit that was wholly in my mind. I had a knife in my hand that could have opened the door to oblivion. And I didn't use it, because someone was there. Someone took the knife from me, someone held me, someone told me I was safe, and that I wasn't alone any more. I didn't entirely believe him, not then. But knowing I wasn't alone gave me the courage to start climbing back out of the pit again. You aren't alone either, and you do not need to go down into the dark. Someone will come for you too."

The bitch made no response. Maker only knew how much she actually heard or understood. Muirnara sighed and went on caressing the chestnut fur. Then suddenly she looked up and froze as she heard the voice of the man who had just come in the door and was talking to one of the Ash Warriors.

_Alistair_

It was clear that Loghain had heard him too. He came out of the kennel, wiping the salve off his hands with a piece of rag and was standing near the door to Hazel's kennel, his arms folded, regarding the younger man coolly as he approached. The bitch opened both her eyes, looked at first Muirnara and then Loghain, then her gaze fixed on Alistair. And she snarled.

The Ash Warrior made some sort of apologetic noise, Alistair waved it away. He was looking at Muirnara, his face carefully neutral. "Warden Commander, would you be so good as to ask your fellow Warden to leave us for a few minutes so that we can talk in private?" After his first glance at Loghain he seemed to be attempting to pretend that the other man did not exist. His tone was politely formal.

"Of course. Your Highness." A nasty impulse to see if she could provoke a reaction from him proved accurate when he winced at the title. She looked at Loghain. "My love," her words were clear and precise, "perhaps you might see if the Ash Warriors have finished feeding the other puppies? I suspect they may still be in need of help."

A flash of amusement came and went in Loghain's eyes. "Of course." He put the salve-covered rag back on the shelf and walked away.

Muirnara looked up at Alistair. "You will have to excuse me not getting up, Your Highness. The puppy is still feeding and I do not want to distress this poor bitch any more than I can help."

"No, don't get up." Ignoring the hackling mabari, he walked into the kennel and sat down, near the door. "Maker's breath, Muirnara, I didn't want our next meeting to be like this. Whatever you may think. Too much has happened now for us just to be spiteful to one another. But I was always very good at opening my mouth and putting my foot in it, and some things take a long time to change. Can you pretend that I just walked in and asked you if you wanted any help feeding that puppy, and can we start this conversation again?"

_Well, that was...unexpected._

"Of course...Alistair." She put the puppy in his lap and handed him the bottle, then took a soft brush and began to groom Hazel who had reverted to her earlier immobility.

Alistair seemed somewhat taken aback, but clumsily managed to shift the puppy onto one knee and get the right end of the bottle into his protesting mouth. "Look, can I start by saying that I now understand why you did what you did at the Landsmeet. I had a long talk to Riordan at Redcliffe and he told me what he later told you, about the need for a Grey Warden to kill an Archdemon. And why it has to be a Grey Warden. At the time, all I could see was my own hurt, and my feeling that it was a betrayal of Duncan. Riordan pointed out to me that if Duncan had somehow survived Ostagar and been at the Landsmeet then he would have recruited Loghain himself. Once I could see that, I could let go of a lot of bitterness. And you didn't deserve the things I said to you then, and however angry I was, I had no right to say them. So for what it's worth, I'm sorry. Not that that is going to make anything much better, but at least I've said it."

"Apology accepted." She kept her head down and her eyes on the bitch she was grooming.

_I could have handled him throwing another fit at me. I don't know if I can handle this._

"I know you're going to marry Loghain." Alistair's tone was level. "I couldn't not know, not when they're already making ballads out of his pre battle speech and half the army is planning your wedding party. And the other half is laying in supplies of drink for it. I don't think I will ever be able to like or trust him, but like it or not he's going to be my father in law, so I'm going to have to at least find a way of being civil to him in front of Anora. Hmm...that makes you my mother in law to be? Now, there's an image..."

She sighed and looked up. "Was this what you came here to say?"

"Partly." The puppy whimpered and he stroked it. "But there were more important things than that. Firstly, you know that the Orlesian Wardens were asking about why you weren't dead? I've been backing up Avernus's story, but I've also talked to Avernus and I know what you did. What you and Loghain both did. And why. Avernus reckons that whatever I say, and whether I accept the authority of the First Warden or not, I can't stop being a Grey Warden and therefore I had a right to know. But frankly I already guessed the part of it that didn't involve Flemeth and some creepy Darkspawn that talks, because Morrigan approached me first."

That startled her. "Morrigan did what?"

"While you and Loghain were at Ostagar. Morrigan came to Redcliffe, and she told me what Riordan had already told me. And she told me her way round it. And I turned her down. I had already decided after what Riordan told me that somehow I would be the one to take the final blow on the Archdemon - it was one of the reasons that I insisted on getting that small cavalry unit to Denerim before the rest. I had some crazy idea that I could kill the Archdemon and finish the whole thing before you even got there. Instead I ended up with your brother, frantically trying to get as many refugees out of the city as we could before the inevitable end. And then afterwards..."

He paused and looked out of the kennel. "I think I discovered that I didn't want to die any longer. I'm not wildly in love with Anora. I think that somewhere I'll love you still till my dying day. But Anora is beautiful, and she is kind, and she has been a rock over these last weeks, and I have come to respect her a lot - and to care for her. And maybe respect and caring aren't such a bad way to start a marriage. Maker only knows there's a lot worse."

The puppy on his lap seemed to be lapsing into some sort of milk bloated slumber. "As far as Morrigan goes - not to mention Flemeth - there's not much we can do about the whole thing. We don't know where they are, we don't know what they're doing. It's a problem for later. Not now. The problem we - or you - have now, is far more immediate. Have you seen Zevran since you came round?"

"No, I haven't."

Alistair sighed. "He's waiting in the hall. Muirnara - he's Tainted. It has to have happened during the Denerim battle. He says to tell you that - I quote - "I did her a kindness on the stairs of Fort Drakon. Now I want her to do the same for me."

_Oh Maker, Blessed Andraste, all the saints, no! Please, please no._

And then Zevran himself was at the gate to the kennels. With that same half smile on his face that she had first seen when he lay at her feet the day that he had found her and tried to assassinate her. Then he had been waiting on her word as to whether he would live or die. Now, he clearly was not going to give her the choice.


	41. Chapter 41

_I always knew it could happen. No, if I'm being honest, I always knew that it would happen, sooner or later. But not now. Not when we thought it was over, that we had the right to breathe again. The right to hope._

From the first, Muirnara had been aware of the potential for her friends to become Tainted. They had always been so careful - she and Alistair and later she and Loghain had always been the ones to engage Darkspawn, with everyone else kept at range. Even Sten had been taught to use a crossbow, despite his mutterings about it being an unsuitable weapon. Oghren had been the only member of their group with no ranged skills, and Oghren had always been considered the lowest risk as a melee fighter - dwarves appeared to have some natural resistance to the Taint. Just as well, really, or the Legion of the Dead would be composed entirely of Tainted madmen by now. But all those precautions had gone out the window in the desperate battles to get to Fort Drakon, and now it seemed so unfair that Zevran should be the one to pay the price.

Some of her thoughts must have been clear on her face, because Zevran's expression softened and he reached out to touch her face. "Ah, cara mia, do not look like that. I was an Antivan Crow, a walking dead man from the age of seven years old. The only certainty that there ever was in my life was that I would not die in my bed at a ripe old age. All that has happened now is that the term has been set. And there are worse ways to go than at the hand of a friend."

"No, Zevran." She placed a hand on his. "There is an alternative. And you know there is."

"You wish me to become a Warden?" The elf laughed, a mirthless sound. "Cara mia, I know what you have said about them. What Alistair has said. I did not shed one set of chains to so lightly don another set. My continued life is not of such value to me that I would keep it at that price."

"No, you don't understand." Behind Zevran she could see other people filing into the kennel building. Oghren. Felsi. A tall slender man behind them who she did not know, but the Taint in his blood immediately identified him as a Grey Warden, this had to be the Orlesian Warden who had remained behind when the other two had left with Riordan's ashes. Avernus bringing up the rear. From round a corner Loghain appeared. Alistair made a move as if to get up and then seemed to change his mind. The puppy on his knee snored peacefully. "Listen to me."

She had not had time to think this through. The thoughts in her mind had been circling ever since she woke up and she had wanted more time to get them into a logical order. The whole thing felt like something from a dream, and Maker knew she had had enough time for dreams in her lost ten days, even if she couldn't remember any of them. But there was no time left. Only one thing mattered now. Zevran was not going to die if she could save him.

"The Wardens have got so many things wrong." Across the group her eyes met Loghain's, flickered to the stranger, and then back to Loghain. He caught her unspoken command and nodded slightly, shifting to position himself nearer the door.

_Watch that other Warden. If he makes trouble - deal with it._

"When we were on the road to Denerim, Loghain talked to me about the problems of the Circle and the Chantry, and the enormous numbers of destructive mistakes that have been made there. Ferelden has paid a high price for those mistakes. But the Grey Wardens have made just as many. Frankly in the long run we could have paid a far higher price, and it was more sheer blind luck than planning that we didn't. And for some of that, Duncan has to shoulder the blame, but he was the agent of a much bigger plan. The ultimate blame goes back to Weisshaupt, and a policy that has run for many centuries that is little short of crazy."

They were all listening to her now. Alistair had looked like he was about to protest when she criticised Duncan but he had not interrupted her. The Orlesian Warden looked curious, but certainly not condemning. Avernus was nodding slowly at her words. She went on.

"The Grey Wardens hide their secrets. They say that it is because of the difficulty of getting recruits, that it isn't possible to tell people what they might be getting into because people will not join. They possess the right of conscription to make their numbers up. They slaughter the ones who panic at the Joining and try to back out, to protect those secrets - and they aren't secrets. The knowledge that the Joining can kill is common. And because they hide so much, the whole process gets this mystique around it - and the wrong people volunteer, the ones with their heads full of mad glory who dream of riding on griffons. This has to end. We nearly lost a nation because of it."

"But why is any of that Duncan's fault?" That was Alistair, from his seat on the floor.

"Because the Blight did not come without warning. The first signs were being reported in the Deep Roads nearly two years before Ostagar" The Legion had told her that. "Wardens were having the dreams that told them the Archdemon had been found for the better part of a year before Ostagar. In those two years when the Warden Commander of Ferelden should have been recruiting battalions, he recruited handfuls. Now, either that was negligence on his part on a massive scale, or his orders were coming from higher up."

The Orlesian Warden spoke for the first time. His voice was a pleasant baritone, with very little accent. "My sister, you will need to explain further. You believe that Weisshaupt told Duncan not to recruit the numbers he needed?"

"I do not know. I will never be able to prove it, one way or another. But the Order as you know had been banned from Ferelden for nearly two hundred years. We did not have the normal base of keeps and manors and training posts for young Wardens. Weisshaupt must have known that Ferelden was all but defenceless - the orders to Duncan should have been the ones I gave to Avernus here when we did not know if we would succeed in killing the Archdemon. I told him if we died he was to recruit anyone he thought had a fighting chance of surviving the Joining to get the numbers up fast. Instead when Ostagar came, we had so few Wardens, and we lost all of them there on one mad throw of the dice. All but two - the youngest two Wardens in Ferelden, who knew nothing of what they needed to know to recruit more or to get word to other Wardens who might come in to help. Nothing."

"But why should Weisshaupt not have wanted Duncan to recruit?"

"Because I believe the intention was to make an example of Ferelden. We were the little backwater nation, full of barbarians who smell of wet dogs, who had the temerity to throw the Grey Wardens out when they broke the Order's own laws on political neutrality. Someone - it was not Duncan, we will never know who - thought that if this nation was lost to the Blight, then it would be an object lesson to every other nation never to try the patience of the Wardens again. I don't believe Duncan knew the purpose of the orders he was given - he was a good man and a decent man, but he was no politician, and they took advantage of him. They probably dressed the whole thing up as an exercise in not upsetting the Ferelden Crown, to keep the Order's presence low key and recruitment very quiet. But that was not, in my opinion, the real reason for the orders."

The Orlesian warden was now nodding. "My sister, I can only say that I have no knowledge of any such orders, but your argument is compelling. It would not have been the first time that Weisshaupt was playing its own political games and the Wardens of one nation or another paid the price for them"

She looked around. Loghain's face was a mask of cold fury. Avernus looked approving, as though a less than promising student had managed to construct an original theorem against all the odds. Alistair looked distressed. "But against the odds, we survived, and this tiny handful of Wardens slew an Archdemon. And we do not forget the courage of the one Orlesian warden who crossed the closed border at risk of his own life to see if he could aid us. But here and now, we have the chance of a new beginning."

She looked around. "Andoral, the Lord of Slaves was the Archdemon who rose during the Fourth Blight. All the Wardens standing here today are his get, every warden for centuries has taken their Joining with a drop of his blood in it. But the Age of Slaves is ending. Urthemiel the Lord of Beauty fell to end the Fifth Blight. His blood has been sent to the Wardens of every land. The new Wardens that we make in Ferelden now will be from him, and if we no longer seek to make the Wardens slaves to the secrets that cannot be kept, then we can make something now worthy of Urthemiel. We can recruit Wardens as they always should have been recruited - freely, in full knowledge of what they are being called to. We can train them as they should have been trained from the start, before they ever face the Joining, in the manner that an elite unit of soldiers is trained, and we have Ferelden's greatest General to do it. And we can be sure that no more die in a panic at the sight of a cup of poison, that the ones who face the Joining are the tough, stubborn bastards who have survived everything else. I am willing to wager that far more of our new Wardens will survive it than ever before. This begins today, here, now. And Zevran, I am asking you to be part of it. Because I need you still, my friend, as much as ever."

"Cara mia." Zevran for once was at a loss for words. He looked around at the others, then back at Muirnara. "With a silver tongue like that, you could have ordered me into the mouth of the Archdemon himself, and I would have obeyed. If this is your plan, if you need me to be part of it, then give me your cup of poison, and I will drink it. I have never known a woman like you before. I believe you could tell the stones themselves to rise up and they would obey you."

"Well, that's taken the wind out of my sodding sails." Oghren stomped forward to join Zevran. "Because I came here to tell this stupid stubborn elf that he was going to take the Joining if I had to force the bloody stuff down his throat. And I was going to drink the other half of the cup. Still am. But at least you talked some sense into the bugger first."

"Oghren..." Muirnara's voice was soft. "Felsi. This is another change we need to make. A married man - or a soon to be married man - does not join without the consent of his wife, and his wife also shall know the risk he faces. Or indeed a wife does not join without the consent and support of her husband. This is the decision of both of you?"

"It is, Warden." Oghren squeezed Felsi's hand. "We talked about it. I didn't think you'd let me anyway unless Felsi gave it the go ahead. Wouldn't have thought much of any commander who recruited a wandering drunk dwarf who'd run away from his wife. And I knew you wouldn't."

She nodded slowly, looking from the elf to the dwarf. "It begins here, my friends. The making of a new heaven and a new earth. The Wardens call each other 'brother' and 'sister' - and I have thought before that so few of them seem to have any idea what those words mean. I had a brother all my life. I believed for the last year and a half that he was dead, and then by some miracle he was given back to me. But as brother and sister we bickered, we fought, we disagreed, we teased and tormented each other - but when any outsider threatened we stood shoulder to shoulder. And either of us would have died for the other without a second's thought. In that sense of the word, both of you have been my brothers for a long time. I am humbled - and honoured - that I will be able to call you both brother as my fellow Wardens. I refuse to believe that either of you will not come through the Joining. Not after everything else that we faced in this year."

The Orlesian warden stepped forward. "My sister. Listening to you, I can only say that whatever the failings of Ferelden's Warden Commanders in the past, that this land is now in very safe hands. My name is Kristoff. I am a Senior Warden from Jader, and I have been given permission by my own Warden Commander to remain with you for as long as you need me. It seems that in some ways you will need me very little, you have a very clear vision of what you must do here, and I wholeheartedly approve of it. But I have been a Warden for eighteen years, and I know about as much as any Warden alive about the political games that the Order plays, and it may yet be that I shall be of some use to you in dealing with those. For there will indeed be resistance to what you wish to do here. But I wholeheartedly agree with you that it needs to be done."

"Shall I prepare the Joining, Warden Commander?" That was Avernus, at the back of the group.

"Yes please, Avernus." Muirnara looked at Alistair, still sitting on the floor. "Alistair, will you be there?"

He hadn't moved, and seemed to be very embarrassed. "I will. But I might be a bit late."

"Why?"

He was definitely blushing now. "Look, I've been sitting here for over half an hour with this puppy on my lap, and it's done what healthy puppies with a tummy full of milk always do."

Loghain gave a bark of laughter as they all realised what he meant. He beckoned to the Ash Warrior who was watching them. "Do you think you could kindly find the Crown Prince of Ferelden a clean pair of trousers?"

"Of course, Warden." They had all started to laugh now, the helpless laughter of released tension.

Alistair sighed. "Go on. Laugh. You'd think that having been raised by dogs in the Anderfels, I would have known better than this."

Muirnara gave him a sympathetic look. "My chamber, all of you. One hour."


	42. Chapter 42

They did not, in the end, meet in Muirnara's chamber. Both Kristoff and Avernus pointed out that even if one was attempting to end a culture of secrecy that had lasted for millennia, it still did not mean that one should demonstrate everything to an audience with no need or wish to know - and they also pointed out that Muirnara's apartments were a hive of activity with servants coming in and out and messengers from the Queen appearing at all hours. Not to mention numerous people including Arl Eamon who seemed to consider that they had an automatic right of entry and often would not even bother with the most basic of courtesies such as a knock on the door. Muirnara had been too well taught by Teyrna Eleanor to even consider just barring the door. Her mother had read her the lecture many times on gossip and how to avoid it, and first on a very long list of snippets of advice was "Do nothing in your own chamber with a locked door. Whether true or not, everyone will always assume One Thing."

Admittedly whether anyone was likely to assume One Thing of a Warden Commander still firmly on the sick list and who had only regained consciousness that morning... Still, she could see the argument. Various other possible venues were discussed. The quarters of any of the other Wardens were vetoed on the same grounds. They considered one of the more deserted gardens and dismissed the idea simply because of how cold everywhere still was, even with the black filth gone from the sky and the world reverting to a more normal late winter-early spring pattern.

So when Alistair suggested the stables, it didn't get the hoots of derision that might have been heard in more peaceful times. The castle stables had the advantage at present of being empty, since the horses brought in by Alistair's cavalry had been sent west again before the spawn hit, and even in peace time few horses had been kept there. They were quiet and secluded, set on the far side of the small dirt paddock used by the Ash Warriors to exercise the Mabari, and at present nobody had any reason to want to go so, Avernus laid wards on both doors to the building. Muirnara was dubious about this. Avernus looked at her with amusement. "They are but sleep glyphs, Warden Commander. Anyone entering uninvited will merely enjoy an hour's unexpected refreshing slumber, and wake with no knowledge of how they got there. I will not activate them until we are all in the building anyway."

There was another advantage that was purely prosaic. Kristoff had studied the stables, chosen the largest box which was probably used for foaling broodmares in time of peace, and had shaken several bales of straw out in it. Then he had instructed Zevran and Oghren to return in shirts and trousers and without their armour. Muirnara had initially been puzzled. Kristoff seemed curious. "Those who survive the Joining, Warden Commander, are likely to fall straight over backwards - surely in Ferelden you do not insist they fall in full armour and onto stone?" She merely smiled and did not inform him that this was exactly what had happened at her Joining, and at Loghain's. Judging from Alistair's wince, his Joining had not been much different. She remembered coming round at Ostagar with a bump on her head that had prevented her wearing a helm for the Tower of Ishal assault, she had to admit that the Orlesian's precautions made infinite sense.

And so they all stood in the middle of a stable, in a solemn circle, ankle deep in straw, and it should have been funny if any of them had had the heart to laugh. Zevran was smiling, but it was the deaths-head grin he had worn back in the Mabari kennels. Oghren just looked...well, like Oghren, it was very hard to ever see a facial expression on that dwarf. Felsi stood with her back against the wall, outside the stable, fists clenched. Wynne had an arm round her shoulders. All the old party members had insisted on being present. Kristoff had taken one look at Muirnara's face and if he had had any intention of objecting, he said nothing.

Loghain as the newest Warden brought the chalice to Muirnara, and she stood looking at the elf and the dwarf. She had also considered altering the words of the Joining and had decided against it - like many things they would have to be looked at, but for now, what was important was the continuity of new and old. One creates a new world with great care, a birth is a very delicate time.

She nodded to Loghain and he stepped back. His eyes met first those of Oghren, then Zevran, then he spoke the words of the Joining ritual quietly and with none of his usual irony.

" **Join us brothers.**

**Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant.**

**Join us as we carry the duty that can not be forsworn.**

**And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten.**

**And that one day we shall join you.** "

Muirnara swallowed against a dry throat. "Zevran, step forward"

The elf took a pace to face her. She gazed at him for a moment. "Zevran, you are called upon to submit yourself to the Taint, for the greater good."

She offered him the chalice, his hands closed over hers, but instead of taking the cup from her he trapped her hands and then kissed her, long and full on the lips. When he broke the kiss, there was indeed genuine laughter in his eyes. "Mia cara, I was not going to die without having done that. Loghain, should I survive this, you may exact your retribution later."

Loghain indeed appeared angry but there was a hint of a smile in his eyes. "Elf, is there anything in the whole world you would not make a jest of?"

"Of course not. Why should there be?"

Then he took the chalice and saluted Muirnara with it. He murmured something in Antivan and swallowed a draught from the cup, grimacing as he forced the foul brew down. Muirnara retrieved the chalice a second before his knees buckled and he collapsed into the straw. Kristoff was immediately at the elf's side, peeling back an eyelid and then feeling for the pulse under the jaw. "He lives." He lifted Zevran as if the elf weighed no more than a child and laid him on his side in the straw at the back of the box.

"What was that he said before he took the cup?" Loghain seemed curious. "I do not speak Antivan."

It was Wynne who answered. "It is from the Chant of Light, one of the Dissonant Verses from the Canticle of Andraste that we do not use here, but that are still included in the Chant in Antiva and the Free Marches. It translates as something like this:

**" _That life which I have owed thee since thy gift of it to me, I freely return to thy hand, the debt of love is paid_."**

She paused. "They were supposed to be Andraste's last words before ascending the pyre, and it was never certain who they were addressed to. The Chantry considers them a prayer to the Maker, but some scholars think the words were actually addressed to Maferath, and that was why those verses were dropped. Who knows what the truth actually was?"

Muirnara drew a deep breath. "Oghren, step forward."

The dwarf turned to her. "Don't expect flowery poetry off me, Warden. Said it all at Denerim's gates. Let's just get this over with."

She nodded and handed him the chalice. "Oghren, you are called upon to submit yourself to the Taint, for the greater good." Her voice was shaky, to her irritation.

He took the chalice, and looked into it. "What's this, the sampler size? Are you trying to say something about my height?" Then he looked into Muirnara's face and winked. "Oh, come on, Warden, you didn't expect me to go down without a bad joke did you?"

She found herself blinking away tears and laughing at the same time. "No Oghren, I didn't."

He grinned, then threw his head back and drained the chalice in a single gulp. He let out a huge belch. "Not bad. Had lichen ales that tasted far worse than this." Then his eyes rolled up in his head and he too went over backwards like a felled oak.

Kristoff checked him. "He lives. Maker help us all, for a moment I thought he wasn't even going to go down - that dwarven resistance to the Taint clearly applies to the Joining as well." He took some blankets that Wynne handed to him and dropped one over each of the recumbent figures. "And now we just wait."

Felsi and Wynne had gone into the stable and the other party members followed them, the Wardens drew slightly away from them and sat down on straw bales near the door that led out to the paddock. Alistair picked up the wineskin that Oghren had brought in with him and sniffed at it. "Amazingly enough, I think this is indeed wine, and not one of his usual foul brews." He took an gulp from it and passed it on to Kristoff. "I've another recruit for you, Muirnara, but it won't be for a month or two. One of the Dalish archers, Mahariel. He told me after the battle was over that he wanted to Join, but he has to return to his clan first to get the permission of his Keeper - he assured me that said permission had never been refused, but there were certain formalities to go through. He'll return to Denerim before the spring."

She nodded, claiming the wineskin herself and drinking from it with a grimace. "I swear this is the wine that the healers keep for washing out wounds with. Halfway to vinegar and with that unmistakable of tang of old iron pots." She took a second gulp.

"I note that it doesn't seem to be stopping you drinking it," Loghain teased as he took the skin.

"Yes, well, after all the events of the last two hours, I needed a drink."

"I think we all did, my sister." Kristoff commented. "Mostly when we conduct a Joining back home in Jader, a lot of Wardens get very drunk afterwards. Here at least we are only drinking to celebrate two new brothers in the family and not for any sadder reason."

There was a scuffling noise in the paddock outside. Loghain sprang to his feet just as a large chestnut Mabari hound bounded through the door. It appeared totally unaffected by the wards but the Ash Warrior pursuing it was not so lucky - there was a flash of green light and a thump as the man hit the floor unconscious. Loghain sighed and sat down again. "Avernus, can you do something for him?"

Avernus tutted. "I had warned the warriors not to come in here - did they think I was telling them just for my own amusement?" But he got up and went over to the recumbent man and the others turned their attention to the dog. It was Hazel, carrying the protesting form of her puppy in her mouth.

Seen in the relatively light stable building rather than in the darkness of her kennel, the Mabari's emaciation was plain and scars of half healed burns and slashes crossed her quarters. She seemed to tremble with weakness as she stood, only an indomitable spirit holding her on her feet. Then her eyes fixed on Loghain and she stalked over to him. She firmly deposited the puppy in his lap and then turned to Muirnara and sat down facing her. Their eyes met. A clear message passed from mabari to woman.

_You are not the man I loved and I mourn for. I am not the hound you weep for still. But perhaps we can be something to each other rather than two grieving apart._

"I didn't want another hound," Muirnara protested softly, but her hand had already gone out to fondle Hazel's head.

Loghain's voice was equally soft. "I said that for the better part of forty years, Muirnara. But I don't think that either of us is going to win this argument."

She looked at him, the puppy had snuggled into a fold of his shirt and had closed its eyes. He gave her a wry smile. "One of the reasons I made you feed this pup earlier was that the Ash Warriors had warned me that I couldn't keep doing it. I had fed it all week while you were still unconscious. They told me I risked the pup imprinting on me, and I had already told them I didn't want it. But it appears both the pup and his mother have their own ideas on the subject, and no sane man argues with a Mabari. You never win."

Alistair picked up an old sack, folded it and offered it to Loghain. "You might need this." There was some amusement in his voice.

Loghain's eyebrows rose as he looked at the younger man. "Why?"

"Because if we've all got to sit here until Zevran and Oghren return to the land of the living, I doubt the Ash Warriors have a clean pair of trousers in your size."

"You have a point."


	43. Chapter 43

**Denerim - Docks**

"You know, Loghain, my friend, most people when looking for a present for their bride to be would consider jewellery..." Zevran's voice tailed off as he studied the other man's face. "But of course there is little harm in being original."

Loghain clearly was not in the mood for debate. He stalked through the milling crowds in the docks, eyes flickering from ship to ship. Denerim's port was once again a hive of activity with merchant vessels tied up at every wharf, and more visible at moorings out in the harbour, waiting for their turn to dock. Both wardens leapt backwards as a flock of bleating goats were driven towards the gate leading to the Market District. The nearest ship appeared to have already cleared out its cargo and was loading bales of heavy fleeces, she flew Rivaini colours at her mast.

Zevran pointed. "The Antivan ships come in at the far end of the dock, they have shallower keels so they always get the end spaces. If anyone has brought what you want, they will be there.

* * *

**Denerim - Market District**

"You know, Muirnara, most people when looking for a present for their husband to be would be considering something a little more...romantic?" Leliana teased as they walked through the Market District. Then she looked at Muirnara's face. "But of course, your Loghain, while possessed of many stirling qualities, is not exactly a romantic soul much of the time. I am sure you are making a good decision."

The Market District was once again humming with activity. Few of the shops were intact, but the intrepid storeholders had set up awnings outside the damaged buildings and were loudly hawking their wares. Muirnara bought two meat pies from a vendor and they stood eating them and studying the Chantry, covered with a makeshift scaffolding of timbers lashed together with ropes. Workmen were swarming over the scaffolding, blocks of stone were being hoisted up on pulleys to those working at the tops of the walls. The foreman spotted Muirnara and respectfully saluted her. "We'll be done before your wedding, Warden Commander. Never fear." He jumped sideways as some broken slates cascaded to the ground and his attention turned to his hapless underling. Muirnara and Leliana moved tactfully away as the recriminations began.

Wade's Emporium was surprisingly still intact, the sign still hung above the door. Muirnara squared her shoulders. "Last time I came here, Herren threw me out of the shop. If he slams the door in my face this time, I'm going to kick it in, and you're going to plant an arrow in his backside. Not lethally, just painfully. Got that?"

Leliana laughed. "I don't think he's going to throw you out of the shop, cherie. Trust me."

* * *

**Denerim - Docks**

They found the merchant in the very last wharf. Three horses were tied to the railing beside the gangplank, a fourth was being led off the ship, and they could see two more waiting to disembark. The merchant spotted Zevran first, his eyebrows raised almost into his hairline. "Zevran?" He then launched into a flood of Antivan, gesticulating wildly with his hands. Zevran responded in kind, but the exchange seemed relatively amicable. Loghain turned his attention to the horses.

The big grey at the end of the rail was far larger than he wanted, and the scars at the corners of its lips told him volumes about the way it had been ridden in the past. The chestnut mare beside it was the right size and build, but there was something about the way she was standing that made him cautious. He ran a hand gently down the back of one of her forelegs, talking softly to her, and found what he was expecting - heat at the base of the tendon and a thickening that suggested this was an old injury which had a habit of recurring. A pity. The third horse, another grey, was clearly an unbroken youngster, it was wild eyed and jerking its head against the rope that secured it.

Zevran had managed to talk the Antivan horse dealer to a standstill and turned to Loghain. "As you might have gathered, Carlo and I are old...acquaintances."

Loghain raised an eyebrow. "Not friends?"

"Associates. You could call him a former employer."

"So who did he pay you to kill?"

"The other man who dealt horses to Ferelden from Antiva City."

"I see. How well does he speak the King's Tongue?"

"Well enough to understand you if you speak slowly. I will translate his replies, he understands more than he speaks."

Loghain nodded. "Ser, what I am looking for is a mount for a lady. Well mannered, light mouthed, sound, and between six and twelve years old." He gestured to the chestnut. "That mare would have been perfect...had she been sound. Do you have what I am looking for?"

The man smiled and nodded. He asked Zevran a question to which Zevran seemed to reply in the affirmative. Then he beckoned to the groom who was tying a rangy bay gelding beside the young horse and pointed to the hold on the ship, the man disappeared below decks again.

"What did he ask you, Zevran?"

"Loghain, my friend, he asked me if the lady involved was your wife to be. I told him it was. He said that in that case, he had a mare in the hold that he had not planned to sell in Denerim, but since it was for the Hero of Ferelden he would make an exception." The elf seemed a little embarrassed. "He said that most Fereldans cannot tell a good horse from a poor one, and he does not usually waste his better stock on those who cannot appreciate it. But he gave you credit for spotting that the chestnut was not sound, and thinks you must have had an Antivan grandmother."

That got a bark of laughter from Loghain. "Very well then, ser. Let us see this equine paragon."

* * *

**Denerim - Market District**

"Warden Commander, what a pleasure to see you again."

Whatever Muirnara has been expecting, it was not this. Herren seemed genuinely pleased to see her. He had bowed the two ladies into the shop, provided chairs, offered goblets of wine. Muirnara was so surprised she accepted. Leliana had a smile on her face that suggested she had anticipated something like this. Herren bowed again. "If you will excuse me, ladies, I will just fetch Master Wade for you, he is out the back in the storeroom."

Herren disappeared. Muirnara looked at Leliana. "Does Blight sickness cause insanity before the Taint is perceptible? He isn't tainted, he just seems to have had a complete change of personality."

Leliana giggled. "No, for this change of heart you have to thank Loghain. While you were unconscious he gave the orders to harvest the scales, wings, hide and bone of the Archdemon and to transport it to the Warden compound in Denerim. Then he came to an agreement with Master Wade that whatever he made for the Wardens with that material, he could have an equal weight of the raw materials to make items of his own choice for sale. Herren was ecstatic, you can't imagine what prices these items are fetching. So you - and any other Fereldan warden - are probably the most welcome customers on Thedas."

Muirnara laughed. "I see."

* * *

**Denerim - Docks**

The mare that was being held on the dock for Loghain's inspection was truly a beautiful example of the Antivan breeding program. She looked small to Loghain's eyes, compared to the Fereldan riding horses which tended to have a fair percentage of draft or carriage blood, but from her perfectly rounded quarters to her finely carved head and huge, lustrous eyes, she was indeed the perfection the dealer had described. She stood politely while Loghain felt down her legs, examined her teeth, ran a hand over her silken coat. When walked and trotted in hand to demonstrate her paces, she moved with a long swinging walk that suggested a good turn of speed when pressed, and a straight, level trot. She was a strawberry roan, again an unusual colour in Ferelden, with a much paler mane and tail, her broad forehead had a small star and her hind legs had two short white socks.

Loghain could find no fault with her, and her temperament seemed level and kind considering the noise and bustle of the docks but he asked anyway. "And she is quiet and well mannered to ride?"

"Ser," Carlo replied through Zevran, " she has a mouth as light as a feather, paces as smooth as silk, and she will gallop on a touch of the heel and stop on a touch of the rein. She will ride astride or with a lady's side saddle, she has hunted with a lady on her and displayed impeccable manners." He added something to Zevran that made the Antivan laugh.

"What was that he just said?" Loghain gave the mare a final pat.

"My friend, he said if this mare was a woman, he would have taken her to bed long ago."

Loghain laughed and reached for his purse. "Very well. Zevran, you had better find out just how much I am going to be robbed of."

* * *

**Denerim - Market District**

"So what can I do for you this time, Warden?" Wade was beaming all over his face.

She laid Loghain's worn scabbard and sword belt on the table. "I want a dragonskin copy made of this, from the Archdemon's hide, as a wedding gift for my husband. But there are certain things I want in the design."

"Go on." Master Wade had taken a sheet of vellum out and was tracing the scabbard onto it, making small illegible notes in the margin.

She touched the buckle. "I want the belt and the scabbard itself plain. But the belt buckle will be tricky. I want one half of it to be the Gwaren wyvern, the other half to be the Grey Warden griffin." She traced the two shapes with a finger. "And the two interlocked figures to be surrounded by the Highever laurel wreath. This would be difficult enough to do when forged of metal, but I want the buckle to be dragonbone. Can you do it?"

"A challenge indeed." Wade was roughly sketching the two heraldic figures and looking at them. "Dragonbone indeed does not lend itself to this work, but yes, I believe that I can do what you ask. Do you want any ornamentation on the sheath at all?"

"Only this." She claimed the pencil from him and wrote a single sentence on the bottom of the sheet of paper, in Old Tevinter. "I want these letters inlaid into the dragonskin down the sheath, in a dark metal. Not an obvious ornament, but with a degree of stylization to the letters, so they might be mistaken just for a fancy trim to the scabbard unless someone studied it closely."

"That should not be difficult. If you can allow me about two days, I shall close up the shop and start work on this now. Come back for it in the evening of the day after tomorrow." Wade already had that light in his eye that said he was working out another challenge. Herren sighed, but it was a very gentle protest by comparison to his previous complaints, and the size of the payment that Muirnara was counting out on the shop counter put an end to the sighs. Leliana presented Wade with a large bundle bearing the Grey Warden seals on the strings, and the glint in Herren's eye suggested he was already working out just how much could be made from the left over materials from this project. The two women drained their wine goblets, made polite excuses and walked out.

Leliana looked at Muirnara as they made their way back towards the gates. "I do not speak Old Tevinter. What was the sentence that you asked him to inlay into the scabbard?"

Muirnara told her. Leliana raised her eyebrows. "What do you think Loghain will say to that?"

Muirnara's voice was soft. "I think that he will understand."

* * *

**Denerim - Docks**

The deal had been struck, and Loghain's money belt was a lot lighter than it had been. Arrangements had been made to deliver the mare to the Palace stables in two days time, and a local saddler had been called in to make a saddle and bridle to fit her. The Antivan merchant had seemed slightly shocked that it was not a sidesaddle. Zevran had tactfully explained that most Fereldan women did indeed ride astride other than on formal occasions. Carlo's eyes had rolled, but he seemed disinclined to argue with a good customer.

"You know, Loghain," Zevran commented as they walked away, "the only thing you might wish to change about that beautiful mare is her name."

"What is she called anyway?"

Zevran told him. Loghain frowned. "Why should I wish to change that?"

"Because for your lovely Warden, it might have some...history?" Zevran paused, and then explained in a few terse sentences.

Loghain looked thoughtful for a minute, and then shook his head. "A name is just a name."

Zevran nodded. "So be it, my friend."


	44. Chapter 44

**Author's note - _ **Muirnara's words in bold are from the Vulgate Bible, from the Gospel of John, and her translation of that verse is the King James version.**_**

 

Muirnara's back was turned to the door as Loghain entered the apartments. She was standing at the window that looked out towards the river, but she did not appear to be studying the rebuilding city. Her eyes were on her scarred hands, her right hand gently flexing the individual fingers of the left hand one at a time, the tension across her shoulders told Loghain more than words ever could about how much effort it was costing her.

Walking up behind her he rested his hands gently on her shoulders. "They're getting better, you know." he told her softly. "You have almost full use of your right hand now. Enchanter Amell told you that the left hand would take a lot longer. Magic can't hurry everything along."

"I know." She turned her head to drop a kiss on the hand resting on her right shoulder. "But I feel like a prisoner in the castle. I daren't walk out of Denerim's gates when I still can't wield my blades, the Darkspawn may be gone but the bandits are still out there preying on refugees. What is it about a war that brings out the worst in some people and the best in others?"

"I think that people have been asking that question since the beginning of time, Muirnara." He took her hands in his and turned them over, studying their palms. "You could wield a blade with your right hand, that is all but healed. I know you can't make a fist with your left hand, so an offhand dagger is impossible, but you could wear a small shield strapped to your left arm? I know you were trained in shieldwork before you took to dual wielding, it would come back to you very fast at need."

Muirnara considered this. "That might work."

He nodded. "Let's go and talk to the palace armorer, whereever he is. They can't have stripped the entire armory during the siege, surely."

The palace armory had indeed been stripped of much of its stock, and the Armorer was muttering darkly over a box of assorted damaged metal when they got there, but he brightened when they explained their request. "Certainly, Wardens." He studied Muirnara for a minute, then smiled. "I have something here that I think you may even recognise."

He bent double to rummage in a chest under one of the long tables, cursing about the dust, and then straightened up with a darkened metal shield in his hands. "Needs a good clean, it must have been in there for years. But look." He turned it towards her and she could see the Highever laurels around the rim. "Was it yours originally, Warden Commander?"

She shook her head and took it into her hands. "I think this was my brother's shield, from when he was about fourteen. He went on to a full weight shield a year or so after that." She slipped it over her arm and tested the balance. "It's a little heavy for me, but it's more that I'm unused to a shield these days."

"It will soon come back to you, my lady...Warden Commander." The Armorer's words were kind. "Shieldwork is a skill you never lose if you learned it well, and I knew your weaponsmaster from Highever for many years. A pity he ever retired, I know King Maric attempted to poach him from your lord father many times, with no success. A good man and a good teacher. Get Teyrn Loghain...sorry, Warden Loghain here to give you a few rounds in the salle to get a feel of it again."

She winced. "I know you are right, ser. But my first attempts at this style again are not going to be pleasant to watch, and it is very hard to get privacy for practice in this place. I would rather they did not look at me and think that Ser Karriss taught me this badly."

"Why don't we go out then?" Loghain had been smiling wryly at the conversation. "It's early morning, we could take food for a noonday meal and ride out."

There were warring emotions on Muirnara's face. "Oh, to get out of this place would be bliss, just to have a few hours where nobody wanted me to do anything. But you remember what I said about horses, Loghain? I seriously have not ridden a horse in several years, on the few times we came to Denerim my mother and I travelled in a carriage."

"More than time that you tried again, then." Loghain's words were firm. "Go and change into the oldest, softest pair of leather breeches you can find, and your mail shirt. I will drop by the kitchens and pick up some food. You can meet me in the Mabari paddock, I'll ask the Ash Warriors to take Hazel and the pup till the evening."

"When are you going to give that puppy a name?"

"Unfortunately he's already got one. Because his dam is Hazel, my daughter suggested Cobnut for the puppy - and as I could have told her would happen, it immediately got shortened to Nut. And now he answers to it. Alistair apparently thinks the whole thing is hilarious, which would tell you all you needed to know about the infantile level of his humour if you didn't already know anyway." His voice was amused.

She nodded. "There aren't many horses in the stables even now. Do you think they can find me something quiet?"

For some reason that seemed to amuse Loghain even more. "I can guarantee you that they will."

When she came down to the paddock a little later, a groom was holding two saddled horses. She recognised the raw-boned bay stallion immediately, he had been Loghain's mount for over ten years. Technically like all Loghain's possessions the horse had been forfeited to the Crown when the Landsmeet found Loghain guilty. Anora had circumvented the problem neatly by gifting the horse back to her father after the death of the Archdemon. But the other horse... She realised she was staring with her mouth open at the roan mare who was lipping gently at a slice of carrot that Loghain was feeding her.

"I have never seen a horse that beautiful." The words were little more than a whisper.

"Oh good." Loghain turned back towards her. "Because there might be a little problem in returning your bride gift now if you did not like her. I think the merchant is halfway back to Antiva by now."

"You bought her for me?" She was running an hand cautiously down the mare's neck, the horse leaned into the caress.

"I did. She was delivered to the Palace yesterday night. I was looking for a good excuse to take you out riding today, and you neatly handed one to me." He was checking the girths on both horses as he spoke. The stallion had two small leather packs attached to his saddle, one of them clearly contained a wineskin. "And if you were afraid you would look a fool sparring in the salle with a shield you were unused to carrying, then you really don't want to know how much of a fool I looked last night riding a mare this size. I wasn't going to let you on her without being certain that her manners were as good as the dealer claimed. She behaved impeccably, but I could see from the smirks on the faces of that elf and dwarf just how silly I looked. I was just relieved that my prospective son in law did not turn up to watch the show."

He was apparently satisfied that both horses were correctly saddled. He turned back to Muirnara. "I wasn't going to insult you with a leading rein, unless you were literally so terrified that you would not get on the horse without it. That mare is as quiet and well mannered a ride as you could ask for, and we need do nothing except walk until you want to try something more."

There was a cowardly bit of her mind that would have liked to find some good reason to request the despised leading rein, but she nodded, gathered up the reins in her scarred left hand and mounted, a little clumsily, but the mare seemed tolerant of her fumblings. Loghain watched her for a minute, then gave an approving nod and mounted his own horse. He leaned down towards the groom. "Please tell the Queen we will be back by nightfall, and that you have absolutely no idea which way we went."

The man touched his forelock with a cheeky grin. "Nobody will find out from me, Warden. Enjoy your day."

They rode out of Denerim's Westgate, taking the road north towards the Coastlands, but as soon as they were out of sight of the city gates, Loghain turned off the main road and led the way down a little used track that wound up into the hills for several miles. The Blight had left the land here almost untouched, and it seemed that the earth was trying to make up for lost time everywhere else, although spring was some weeks away still all the trees were budding and there were sprays of Andraste's Grace in the winter-pale grass, flowering a month earlier than they should have been. Muirnara cautiously urged the mare forward to walk by Loghain's stirrup when the track widened a little to allow two to ride side by side. He looked down at her. "All right?"

"Yes." Muirnara looked up the hill. "How did you know this track was here?"

"I wasn't sure that it still would be. I came here many years ago. At some point there was a smallholding high in these hills - Maric and I found it when we rode out one day. The records in Denerim show that this land belonged to a family with the name of Salaric, but the last known member of that clan died over fifty years ago, and if he had any heirs they never claimed this place - the land was probably too poor and too inaccessible to make it worth the effort. When we came here we found a derelict house, and a large stone barn that was still intact. I am hoping that both are still there, because," he added with a glance at the sky, "I would lay money that it is going to rain within the hour."

He changed the subject. "You never did tell me why you were so afraid of horses? I remember you from my one or two visits to Highever as a confident child with an adored pony, what happened after that?"

The mare stumbled on a rough bit of the track and Muirnara clutched at a handful of mane to steady herself, not caring if Loghain laughed at her. He didn't. But he did seem to be expecting an answer to his question.

"I suppose you could say I paid the price for overconfidence. Being five years younger than Fergus, what generally happened was that as he outgrew a pony it was passed on to me. This worked very well until I was sixteen, and he was given his first destrier. The horse he had been riding up until then was a well bred palfrey stallion, but it was a nervous ride, and it was strong. My mother did not want me to ride it, but I begged and pleaded with my father until he gave in."

She paused. "The horse was too much for me. Even I knew that, but I was stubborn, and fearless, and told myself that it was just a case of getting used to a new mount, and that time and schooling would solve the problem. And then there was the day we rode out to the beach and the stallion bolted with me. I fought him - we were on the cliff path going down to the bay, and in trying to get control of him I unbalanced him. We both went off the edge."

"You are lucky to be alive."

"I know. The palfrey broke both his forelegs, my father had to destroy him where he fell. I was knocked unconscious. They carried me back to Highever village on a makeshift stretcher, the Revered Mother there was skilled in healing. She diagnosed broken ribs and a broken shoulder - I was flat on my back in bed for many weeks and did not ride again for over three months. And my courage had gone. I was a nervous rider even on the quietest of mounts. "

Loghain was nodding to the story. "And nobody pushed you to go on riding?"

"Not really. Mother did not ride much anyway, she preferred to travel by carriage on our infrequent visits to Denerim, so I just travelled with her. Father told me that when I was ready to try again, he would have someone find me a quiet old mount to start on. I just nodded, and didn't tell him I wasn't sure I was ever going to be ready to try again. And then a lot of things happened after that, and..." she shrugged, "we got a war, we got a Blight, it wasn't that important. We were walking everywhere anyway."

She peered up at him. "I suppose you think someone ought to have pushed me to get back into the saddle earlier?"

"No, I think Bryce should have used his brains and not allowed you to ride the horse in the first place." His smile was wry. "But as Anora's father, I rarely underestimate the power of a daughter to wheedle you into something against your better judgement."

The buildings were coming into sight, and as Loghain had predicted it was indeed beginning to rain. He pointed at the barn. "Let's get the horses in there and see how much of the roof is still intact."

The answer, surprisingly, seemed to be that the roof was still holding. Damp patches on the floor by the west wall showed where the leaks were, but most of the stone-flagged floor was dry and dusty. Loghain pointed to two rusted rings in the wall by a stone water trough set into the wall, half inside the barn, half out, apparently designed to catch rainwater from the roof and still surprisingly clean. They dismounted, unsaddled the horses and tethered them to the rings with roughly made rope halters from one of the stallion's packs. Loghain made a foray out into the rain to pull a couple of armfuls of the winter grass for the animals to browse on, returning with his hair plastered to his head with water and his shirt soaked. "Perhaps this was not one of my better ideas. Still, we can look on the bright side. We are in a dry building, we have peace and quiet, we have a stone floor and places to hang wet clothes to dry, and we came here to spar, so I would have taken my shirt off anyway." He was stripping off his shirt as he spoke, draping it over the remains of a wooden gate. "The one thing we don't have is practice blades. See if there's a couple of lengths of wood over in that corner that are roughly the right length and weight. I don't think sparring with naked blades is a good idea on your first attempt after all these weeks."

"Will those barn doors still close?" She was sorting through the wood, laying out some promising pieces of timber.

"Probably." One door was half off its hinges and the other had dropped, he dragged it round and barred it roughly with another lump of timber. "Worried about interruptions? You know as well as I do there's no spawn within the range of senses, and no man has come up that track in years by the look of it. The horses would soon tell us anyway if anyone approached."

"I was more worried about one of the horses getting untied," she returned, choosing a long stake and lashing an broken piece of wood to it as a crosshilt.

He laughed, accepted the makeshift sword and watched her make a second one for herself. "Mail off, Muirnara, you aren't fit enough yet to spar with the weight of it, you'd be gasping for air in ten minutes. Oh, and lose your boots, this floor is slippery. Better barefoot on dust than sliding on leather soles."

She dropped her dragon mail with the saddle bags and dumped the boots beside them. Slinging the small shield on her arm, she tested the weight of her own practice blade and saluted him, he returned the salute with a wry smile. "Keeping your shirt on? I fully intend to rip it to shreds by the end of the session if you do. Don't expect me to go easy on you."

She raised an eyebrow. "Any excuse to see me in a breastband, Loghain?"

"Of course, madam. I will be your husband in a couple of days after all. Would you prefer it if I did not want to look at my wife?"

"Touche." The shirt followed the mail and she faced him in her breastband and breeches, scuffing one bare foot against the dusty floor to check the surface. "Better?"

"Immensely so." Before he had finished speaking he had swung a lightning blow at her shield side, she only just got the shield up in time to block it. His laugh answered her returning lunge which he flicked away with the tip of the wooden blade. "So, madam, the reflexes are still there... But as I warned you over ten years ago, your shield is useless around your ankles. Up to your shoulder and keep it there!" A second thrust followed the words, she parried it and dropped back a pace, circling, looking for an opening.

Her next blow met his blade with a force that numbed her arm and she almost dropped the wood. Forcing her fingers to keep hold of it she was pushed onto the defensive by a series of short thrusts that she could barely keep pace with, followed by an overhand swing that had landed her in the dirt on so many previous sparring sessions. But he had drilled her too many times now in the counter for that stroke, she had half turned and thrown her shield up and the edge of the shield caught the hilt of the practice sword, only Loghain's own reflexes stopped him losing the blade. They broke apart, circled, closed again.

She was breathing heavily now, it was amazing how fast one lost fitness lying in a bed with injuries. Loghain, damn him, must have been training still in the weeks where she was not allowed to spar. His breathing had not even quickened, though a light sheen of sweat coated his muscles. The barn was surprisingly warm, the horses themselves were contributing to that, and the exertion in the still air with the door closed was doing the rest. He showed no sign of easing the pace, working through a few of his older tricks to test her memory for the counters, then trying one or two moves which he used less often. Both now had welts where a blade had momentarily slipped under their guard and she blessed his foresight in insisting that they did not used edged blades. But her tiredness was now showing, and if she did not end this soon she would be soundly drubbed once she could no longer keep up the pace.

She circled again, studying him, looking for a moment that could end the fight. He kept pace with her, waiting for her next move. There was something...wait, yes! Even now, he slightly favored the leg he had broken in the fight with the Archdemon, if she could just force his weight onto that leg, there was that uneven bit of floor... She dropped back a little, opening her guard slightly as if tiredness was forcing her to lower her shield arm - not that it was a hard thing to fake at present!

_Now will he take the bait..._

For a moment she thought he had seen through her move and was going to refuse the feint. Then he sprang forward, and she had him. As his bare foot came down on the uneven flagstone she threw herself forward at him, her entire weight behind the shield, he stumbled and was down, and she was falling too, they landed together in a heap on the stones with her blade at his throat and a smile of triumph on her dust streaked face.

"Yield, my lord."

He laughed up at her, pride in his eyes. "Excellent. You see why I spent all this time convincing you that forcing a dagger to do a shield's work was futile? But no, my lady, I do not yield, because there is something that you have forgotten."

"Oh yes? And what would that be?"

In that instant his hand had caught her wrist as he rolled onto his hip, digging iron fingers into the tendons to make her release her grasp, and somehow she was now under him, with one arm trapped underneath herself and still attached to her shield and the other wrist imprisoned. He ran his free hand caressingly down her flat stomach and she found herself giving him an encouraging whimper.

"What you have forgotten, madam, is that outside the setting of a formal duel, it is very unwise to expect your opponent to fight by the rules. Indeed, by any rules at all."

His hand was at her breastband, burrowing beneath her back to find the clasp and snap it open, tossing the garment to one side, exploring downwards to slip a hand into her breeches and cup her gently. "Perhaps, madam, you might wish to talk terms, since it appears you are now my prisoner."

She sighed as he caressed her, pressing herself against his hand, she knew he could already feel that her smallclothes were soaked under the breeches. "What would be the point? I already know what your terms are."

"Oh yes?" He had released her wrist, easing her other hand out of the shield straps and pushing the shield to one side, then kissing the scars, the kisses on the sensitive tissue made her whimper again. "And what do you consider my terms to be then?"

"The same as they always are." Her words were breathy and ended in a gasp as he removed his hand from her breeches to first unlace his own leather trousers and pull them off, then to slide her trousers and smallclothes down over her hips and strip them away to lie in a crumpled heap beside the discarded shield. "Unconditional surrender."

"How wise of you, my lady" He rolled onto his back, lifting her up to sit astride him and easing her down onto his erection with a soft chuckle as he listened to her groan and watched her hips grind against him. His hands trapped her waist, pulling her down hard against him as he thrust upwards, there was little gentleness in his moves but she did not appear to be looking for gentleness, judging by her twists against him and the wild clawing of her hands. Her shudders racked her body and they inflamed him, he drove into her with all the strength that his back could produce and her cries answered his thrusts, becoming wordless wails as one of his hands left her waist to caress the damp curls on her mound, then circle her nub with a calloused thumb. It seemed to be what she was looking for, she cried out and came in a series of frenzied bucks, and his own release was only seconds behind hers. She had collapsed forward, crouching over his chest and his arms slid around her, holding her close as she found her breath again.

He kissed her collarbone scar and ran a hand down her side, easing her down from him and into the curve of his arm. "Believe it or not, this was not what I had planned when I brought you here. But you surely did not expect me to ignore such an advantage when it was offered to me?"

"Of course not." The stone was cool against her sweating body and she could see the smears of dust on her side. "When one agrees to marry a country's greatest General, one accepts that most of the marriage is likely to be spent at a tactical disadvantage."

His laugh answered that. "And when the General already set the terms that what happens in his tent or his bedroom is his choice? What happens then when you wish to take the lead?"

Her mischievous smile was back on her face. "Oh, I don't know. I can always invite him out for a picnic in the hills? And lose anyway?"

"To me, this sounds like a plan with no drawbacks." He dropped a kiss on her forehead and then climbed to his feet. "Let's get cleaned up and investigate the picnic part of the battle plan then."

The rainwater in the trough was still winter-chilled and they both gasped as they sluiced it over themselves, rinsing off sweat and dirt. Climbing back into breeches was accomplished at speed, and Loghain cursed his still damp shirt as he pulled it on. "Oh well, it will dry on me anyway." He sat down on a broken barrel, opening the saddle bag with the food and pulling out a loaf of bread, baked with cheese and ham inside it, which he tore in half and passed a share of to Muirnara. They ate in silence for a while, as usual the Warden appetites meant that short work was made of the bread, and of the apples that followed it, withered from winter storage but still firm and sweet. Muirnara took her apple core over to feed to the roan mare, who nibbled it delicately from her palm.

"You've forgiven me for my choice of wedding gift for you, then?" Loghain was watching the woman and the horse together.

"Nothing to forgive." She pushed the mare's questing muzzle gently away from her and came back to sit beside him. "Does she have a name? I didn't ask you."

"She does. Zevran suggested I changed it."

"Why?"

"Because her name is Rose. And he said that the gift of a rose is something that might stir other memories for you."

She did not pretend not to know what he was talking about. "Back in the autumn, Loghain, it might have hurt. A lot of things hurt back then. But we are in the Thaw, and the world is turning towards spring, and not much has the power to hurt me now. I love you. I chose you. And I love the gift you chose for me. The name Rose suits her very well indeed."

Loghain let out a half sigh that told her he had been less certain of her response than he had admitted. "I am glad. I'm not much of a romantic, Muirnara, as well you know. This is probably the nearest you will ever get to me offering you flowers."

She smiled at that and placed a hand over his. "I have something for you too. I hadn't exactly planned to give it to you now, but it seems as good a time as any." She delved into her own pack and extracted a long narrow shape wrapped in soft leather which she passed to him.

He unfolded the leather and caught his breath at what was inside. The treated dragonskin of scabbard and belt gleamed an oily black in the shadows of the barn, the white of the dragonbone buckle shone. The design of the buckle first drew his attention, but then his eye traced down the scabbard. "These letters..." He ran a finger down them. "What do they say?"

Her voice was soft, making music of the Old Tevinter language. " **Et lux in tenebris lucet et tenebrae eam non comprehenderunt**." She paused. "It is a part of the oldest version of the Chant of Light that we know, and it has had more different translations than any other part." She paused again, and then translated it. " **And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not."**

She touched the scabbard gently. "Wade thought it highly appropriate for the scabbard that bears a blade that shines with blue light in the presence of Darkspawn. I told him it had nothing to do with the blade. That the tribute was to a man who had twice been the light of a nation in the times of that nation's greatest darkness."

She looked at him, and he could see that she had been as uncertain of her gift to him as he had been about the mare, she had traces of tears in her eyes and all he could do was take Maric's blade out of its worn scabbard and slide it carefully into the new one, then take her in his arms and kiss the tears away as lingerly and as thoroughly as he knew how.

When, many hours later, the rain stopped and they rode away from the little farm in the hills in the glittering light of a sunset after rain, Muirnara looked back over her shoulder at the buildings. "I wonder - if we could trace who the place actually belonged to, whether we could buy it from them? Rebuild the house, have somewhere that we could go off to when things just became too much? Neither of us will ever be given the time out of the public eye, but having a place to go, just for a while, which was just ours would be...good."

"I'll talk to Anora. So you have occasional yearnings to be a simple farmer's wife? With chickens at the door, and cows in the byre, and no greater demands being made of you than worrying about whether the next batch of butter would churn well?"

Her face was wistful. "It would never work. But it would be nice to be able to pretend."

"It would."

Behind them, the woods closed around the house in the hills, and sealed it away from time again. Sleeping in rainwashed peace.


	45. Chapter 45

Loghain Mac Tir had been a soldier all his life.

_A soldier develops over time what is best described as a sixth sense when approaching a new battleground, especially if the last thing he expected to find in this place is a battle being fought._

When the first thing that one sees is allied troops in full retreat with expressions on their faces that would have curdled milk, one generally approaches with extreme caution. The woman hurrying towards him he vaguely recognised as one of the Palace dressmakers. The man, with his waxed moustache and rather effeminate air, he did not recognise, but suspected this might be the Orlesian hairdresser who occasionally attended upon Queen Anora. Both appeared flustered and unhappy. And since both must have emerged from the apartments currently occupied by his wife-to-be, there being no other guest rooms on this hallway, he could only imagine that wedding preparations were not going as smoothly as one might hope when the bride is expected at the Chantry in less than three hours.

He strode towards the door and threw it open. He had clearly forgotten one of the other principles of warfare.

_One of the hardest things on a battlefield is avoiding damage from your own side._

Only the reflexes honed by a lifetime of caution made him duck at the last minute, and the heavy soapstone bowl sailed past his shoulder and clattered onto the floor.

Muirnara was standing facing the door, wearing nothing but her shift, and with an expression of horror on her face that warred with the fury that was probably her expression before she threw the bowl.

"Maker's breath, Loghain, I'm sorry, I thought you were that bloody dressmaker on her way back again."

"I think I can safely say that I am not," he returned dryly, looking around the room. A very elegant, and clearly unfinished wedding dress was discarded over the foot of the bed in a crumpled heap. A litter of paints, powders, perfumes, combs and other apparatus of the hairdresser's art lay scattered over the dressing table and the floor beside it. Erlina, Anora's maid, was backed up against the far wall as if expecting the next missile to be flung in her direction.

Loghain had been a soldier all his life. Admittedly, this was unlike any battlefield he had ever had to take control of, but improvisation is over half of the art of warfare.

_Secure the perimeter. Get the non combatants out of the way. Send for trained reinforcements if they are available to you._

He waved Erlina to the door. "Go and find me Leliana, Zevran and Wynne. Get them here as fast as possible. Don't let that hairdresser or the dressmaker within a hundred yards of this room, and if Queen Anora asks what is going on, lie. Convincingly. Clear?"

For the first time that he could ever remember, the Elven woman did not argue with him, but scurried away down the hall with a nod. He shut the door behind her and sat down on the bed, gesturing to Muirnara to come and sit beside him. "So, are you going to tell me what all this is about?"

That was when she started to cry.

He found a clean cloth - it probably belonged to that bloody hairdresser too, but he wasn't likely to return and claim it - and passed it to her. She sniffled something that sounded like thanks, and blew her nose in a thoroughly inelegant manner, then rested her head on his shoulder. He stroked her hair. "Can I assume that since you did not intend that missile for me, that this is not because you'd rather call off the wedding at the eleventh hour?"

The look of shock on her face reassured him as to that much. "No, of course not, Loghain! It was just...Oh blessed Andraste, I'd been up since dawn with that pair of imbeciles criticising me and patronising me, and if someone hadn't carefully taken my armour and daggers this morning to the palace Armory, I would have backstabbed one of the bastards by now."

"Criticising you?" Loghain found this somewhat incomprehensible.

She snorted. "Well, that dress apparently was one that was in production for one of the ladies of the court already. Queen Anora commandeered it and sent it - with the dressmaker - to be altered to fit me, since the lady concerned is now believed to be somewhere in Kirkwall and unlikely to return to collect her order. And all morning - literally - I have listened to the woman whine that my shoulders are too muscular to wear an off-the-shoulder dress, that my collarbone scar shows at the neckline and she will have to remodel the bodice to hide it, that..." She paused. "Well, let's just say we've had endless variants on that theme. For over two hours. The dress still isn't finished, and now is never going to be. So I will just have to shock the Revered Mother by showing up to the wedding in armour."

_Identify the most obvious supply problems and deal with those first. Subtleties can wait for a pause in the battle._

"Not necessarily." A tap on the door turned out to be Leliana, and he waved her in. "These were your parents' court apartments, were they not?"

"They were." She wrinkled her nose. "None of their things are still here. Howe took the apartments over and presumably cleared out anything he found in here, and then the rooms were cleared again before Anora assigned them to me."

He smiled. "Trust me, nothing in this place ever gets thrown away. You and your mother were roughly the same height and build, were you not?"

"We were. That suit of leather armour I wore when I met you at Ostagar with King Cailan was originally hers, when she passed it to me it didn't even need altering."

"Good, that's all I need to know." He beckoned Leliana over. "Where is Wynne?"

Leliana sighed. "Wynne is not actually in the palace at present, she went off to the Alienage this morning and hasn't returned. Erlina said she was going to find Zevran, I told her that he was probably in the wine cellars playing card games with the soldiers again."

"Fine, then, you get this task. Find Erlina, ask her in which storeroom Teyrna Eleanor's court dresses have been put. Bring Muirnara back a selection of them." He paused - just how did women select a wedding dress anyway? Were there unlucky colours, were there styles that one just did not wear? "Pick three or four that you think are suitable."

_Sometimes one must trust to the specialised knowledge of one's troops in areas where the General's own knowledge is lacking._

Leliana, bless her, did not argue, just nodded and slipped out the door. Muirnara's look of gratitude was tinged with exhaustion. "That's one problem solved. Now, what was it that the hairdresser said that made you want to carve him a hole in his back?"

She rumpled her curls. "Oh, you should have just heard him, Loghain. My short hair is apparently hopelessly unfashionable, did I wash it with lye soap that it was in such a poor state? Had I ever heard of olive oil to improve the condition? Surely this wasn't a burnt patch? How in the name of Blessed Andraste did I expect him to work in such a situation?" Her imitation of the hairdresser's manner was perfect. "That was when I cracked and told the pair of them to get their collective arses out of my sight and not come back."

He laughed. He couldn't help it, and her look of hurt made him immediately regret it. "My love, perhaps you should have reminded him that ending the Blight has disrupted your normal routines." He ran his fingers through her curls. "He's right about the burnt patch though, you got that from that fire-wielding emissary in the Bannorn, the first night after we left Redcliffe. I was going to trim the singed hair for you before we got to Denerim, but it didn't appear to be a priority under the circumstances."

She turned her head to drop a kiss into the palm of his hand. "Loghain, my love, I can guarantee that you would have lost your temper too. Probably far sooner than I did."

"I am not arguing it. Thankfully, all that appears to be required of the bridegroom at a wedding is that one should show up clean, sober, and reasonably neatly turned out. Everyone is looking at the bride anyway."

"That isn't making me feel a lot better."

He stood up and gestured to the stool. "Right, since I would imagine that hairdresser is still in full retreat, you'd better let me even up the burnt hair, and then we'll see what Leliana can find you to wear in your hair to go with the gown. Given the stories she told us about the hairstyles in Orlais, I am sure she can come up with something."

Muirnara heaved a martyred sigh and sat down on the dressing table stool. "Not ribbons. Or feathers." She paused. "Or live birds."

"No live birds," he agreed, picking up a comb and searching through the litter on the dressing table for scissors. "Shale would never forgive you anyway."

She managed to laugh at that, and then closed her eyes as he combed her hair and carefully trimmed away the uneven, scorched ends. "Anyway," he added, tapping her shoulder to make her open her eyes and look at him, " you should have reminded him that as the Hero of Ferelden, you in all probability will be setting the fashions for Denerim for five years to come. If he'd managed to keep his mouth shut then his name as the city's leader of fashion would have been made for life."

There was another tap on the door. "Come in," he called, expecting to see Leliana, but instead Zevran sidled into the room, carrying a large bottle and a handful of goblets that he had clearly picked up from a cabinet somewhere on his way to the room.

"Cara mia," Zevran purred as he set three of the half dozen goblets in a line and eased the cork out of the dusty bottle, "you apparently have the whole servants' hall of the palace in an uproar, and the dressmaker is having hysterics in the pantry. Why on earth did you not just send for me to deal with these little annoyances for you? What is the point of having a trained assassin in your retinue if not to remove life's small problems before they become large problems?"

That at least got a genuine smile from Muirnara as she reached out to accept the cup of amber spirit that he offered her. She took a sip, and raised her eyebrows. "What is this, Zev?"

"This is Antivan brandy, and not just any Antivan brandy. This is brandy from the finest distillery in Antiva City, laid down in wood for over twenty five years before bottling. Liquid gold, and rarely exported. Your late King Cailan must have had contacts in the trade, or perhaps his father did. Anyway, I liberated this bottle from the cellar, thinking there could be no better time to open it." There was a sly smile on his face. "My advice to you though, is one glass, and one glass only. It is as seductive as a courtesan, it winds itself around your mind and heart, and would turn a lamb to a raging lion. But more than one glass, and one's judgement can be considered to be more than a little impaired. Not a choice for your wedding day."

Loghain took a swallow from his own goblet. "Advice duly noted, Zevran." He could see that Muirnara was relaxing, her shoulders had slumped and the furrow between her brows was gone.

Zevran set his own cup aside. "Now, cara mia, what can I do to keep a smile on your face? If you require me to dance the Remigold, I warn you, I should do it very poorly. I can return the hairdresser's head to you on a silver tray if that would suffice?"

By now she was laughing out loud. "I think not, Zevran. It is always possible that Queen Anora may have a use for the man's services again."

The elf pulled a face. "Assassination does have the drawback of being a very final solution to a problem. Perhaps then we shall let the man live. After all, if he was so unaware of his good fortune in being asked to minister to one of the loveliest women in this land on her wedding day, then perhaps the man is more to be pitied than blamed?"

Another knock, and the door creaked open to reveal Leliana staggering under the burden of several dresses, closely followed by Wynne bearing an armful of white flowers. Loghain blinked. "Wynne, where in the Maker's name did you find those? Andraste's Grace does not blossom in midwinter."

Wynne's smile was serene. "I went to the Alienage, where I remembered seeing a number of the plants beneath the great tree. Once I had found the plants, I...had a conversation with them. They were most obliging."

_When the tide of battle unexpectedly turns in your favour, do not waste time in searching for reasons. Use it._

Wynne and Leliana had withdrawn to the far end of the bedchamber and were laying the dresses out upon the bed, discussing them animatedly. Zevran poured two more cups of brandy and sauntered over to them, presenting the goblets with a flourish and a bow, and saying something under his breath that made Leliana give a shriek of laughter and Wynne a low chuckle. For that moment attention was away from Loghain, he took Muirnara's hand and gently slid the silver ring off her finger. "In a few hours I shall put that back, and then, according to the law of the land and the Chantry's teachings, you are mine. But," and his words were a low growl in her ear as he kissed her neck, "you were already mine a long time ago. And I do not let go."

She shivered at the kiss and looked up at him, her green eyes full of love and trust. "Yours. Always."

He beckoned to Zevran. "Come, Zevran. I think now we can safely leave the ladies in control of the battlefield."

They paused at the doorway to watch Muirnara walk over to join Leliana, who was displaying a gown of sunlit yellow silk for her approval. The look in Zevran's eyes was almost wistful as the two men closed the door. "My friend, I do not think you need an Antivan elf to tell you that you are the luckiest man in Thedas this morning."

Loghain shook his head as they set off towards the main stairs. "Zevran, my friend, trust me. That indeed I do already know."

* * *

_**"Water shapes its course according to the nature of the ground over which it flows; the soldier works out his victory in relation to the foe whom he is facing.** _

_**Therefore, just as water retains no constant shape, so in warfare there are no constant conditions.** _

_**He who can modify his tactics in relation to his opponent and thereby succeed in winning, may be called a heaven-born captain."** _

_**Sun Tzu - The Art of War - late 6th century BC** _


	46. Chapter 46

The Chantry if not as elegant and beautiful a building as it had been before the fires and devastation at least had a roof now, and solid walls of stone, many of them parts of the old city walls that had separated city districts. Willing hands had limewashed it inside and set up rough wooden benches, but the press of guests at this wedding was such that over half the congregation was forced to stand. And ten times as many people again were thronging the Market Square outside, setting up for the biggest party that Denerim had seen in years.

Loghain was on his feet for the fifth time in as many minutes and craning his neck to peer down the aisle to the double doors. "She should have been here by now."

Zevran laughed. The elf was occupying the next seat on the hard bench. Loghain's choice of an elf - and not just an elf, a former Antivan Crow - as one of his groomsmen had raised a lot of eyebrows. Nobody had dared raise any objections - at least not within the General's hearing. "My friend, it is the privilege of a bride to be fashionably late to her own wedding. It gives everyone time to admire her on her way to the Chantry, it keeps the groom on edge. She will be here."

He nodded and sat down but two minutes later stood up again. The Chantry was warm despite the late winter morning, the press of bodies inside it had raised the temperature of the building considerably. "You don't think some idiot let that hairdresser back in the room after I left, do you? Or the dressmaker? If they did..."

Zevran shook his head. "No. Of that I can assure you. I suspect the hairdresser is on the way back to Orlais after what the bride said to him, and the dressmaker is probably still having her hysterics in the pantry, the stupid woman was showing no signs of stopping when I left. And besides," he added, "with Wynne and Leliana to attend the bride in her chamber, if either of them appeared again I am sure they either got an ice bolt in the face or an arrow in the backside. Your bride is in safe hands, my friend. Patience."

He heaved a sigh. "Patience, Zevran, as Cauthrien here will tell you, was never my strongest point."

"My lord, that isn't true." Cauthrien stood beside Loghain, fully armoured and at attention, as she had stood beside him so often before in peace and in war. His selection of a woman as his other attendant had raised even more eyebrows than the elf. The Grand Cleric had even written him a polite and frosty letter expressing her disapproval at this departure from tradition and stating that a groom's attendants should be his male friends, but she had stopped short of forbidding it outright. Just as well really, as his reply to the letter would have been considerably less polite than the one he had eventually sent to her. And the letter he had sent to her had been rewritten by his daughter before she would permit him to send it. He had commented that despite immense provocation he had refrained from calling the woman a dried up old trout and what more did Anora want? Anora, shaking her head, had torn up the letter, drafted another one herself and stood over him while he copied it out. It pointed out in sweetly reasonable terms that if a woman had with the Maker's help defended the city against its foes, then the Maker surely could in no way be displeased at the presence of said woman standing beside the man who had commanded the army which lifted the siege, on the joyous occasion of his wedding day. They had received no reply to this. Anora had told him to count that as a win.

Cauthrien went on. "You have on many occasions been very patient. But," a hand swept in a circle, indicating everyone in their seats, sweating, fidgeting and peering over their shoulders, "this is not the easiest of situations in which to demonstrate the virtue."

He looked at her with affection. "Cauthrien, you do not need to defend me here. We are among friends and those friends know me." He turned away to look down the aisle again.

"Father!" That was Anora, seated directly behind him, and sounding exasperated. "For Andraste's sake, sit down! When I left the palace all was well, and they were going to leave about ten minutes after I did. She will be here shortly."

He shrugged and sat down. Zevran gave him a look of sympathy.

But now they could hear the cheering outside - the whole of the Market District had turned now into one huge congregation, and there were Circle mages standing near the Grand Cleric who were charged with the task of making her words audible to those outside. For choice Loghain would not have had the Grand Cleric officiate at the wedding at all - the woman had dressed him down in public at the Landsmeet and while he was honest enough to admit that she had had some justification for her words, it had not improved relations between the two of them. But with the wedding having become this much of a public party, it would have been very hard to ask any other priest to conduct the ceremony without causing huge offence. Better not to ruffle any more feathers. Anora was probably at the limits of her patience with her father as it was.

The great doors swung open, the minstrels struck up an air which he vaguely recognised but could not put a name to, and those still seated within the Chantry came to their feet. He could see a ripple of bows and curtseys as the two people came down the aisle. Muirnara was dressed in a high necked yellow silk dress with a sheaf of white flowers over one arm and a wreath of the same flowers in her hair. Her free hand rested on the arm of her brother, but it was clear that the reverences were not being made to the Teyrn of Highever but to his sister, and the formal bows were deep enough for a reigning monarch. Denerim knew to whom it owed its salvation. Loghain had commanded the army that raised the siege, but it was down to Muirnara's work that there had been an army at all.

And a lot of the admiration being expressed for his bride was nowhere near as reverent as the bows. Behind him, near the wall, he could hear a group of his soldiers from Maric's Shield, discussing her with soldiers' usual lack of inhibition. He had a smile on his face at the snippets of conversation that he heard, but the smile dropped at one of the comments. "And how the General snared an armful like that is beyond me. Young enough to be his daughter, and he a widower and no oil painting himself!"

Cauthrien had heard it too, he could see her about to furiously turn on the soldiers and he stopped her with a touch on her hand. "Let it be. It will have been said by many, and not as kindly." It was something he had thought himself, waking at night with Muirnara in his arms, a warm weight pressed against him, that he had not deserved this blessing and that the Maker would have a reckoning for this joy one day.

But that reckoning was clearly going to be postponed. For Muirnara had seen him now, and the blaze of joy and love on her face transformed her. Nobody looking at her could doubt her feelings for the man waiting for her, and even the Grand Cleric's face had cracked into something approaching a smile. It appeared to be an expression she was not used to.

The service began, and Loghain became aware that it was the most formal version of the wedding ceremony used by the Chantry. That would have been Muirnara's doing again - her reasoning had been much the same as her reasons for not changing the Joining ceremony. Their hope for a Circle and Chantry not at perpetual war in this land was not going to be achieved easily - if one wishes to overthrow centuries of tradition then it is not a bad starting point to at least show respect for some of those traditions in the ways that one is able.

When the Grand Cleric made the centuries old request "Who gives this maiden to be married to this man?" and Fergus passed his sister's hand to her, Loghain suppressed a smile. The public assumption was always made that a woman of rank went chaste to her marriage bed, and while it might be true of a few cloistered daughters of the nobility he had always suspected it wasn't true of many. And there was nobody in the army who did not know that the General and the Warden Commander had shared a tent and a bedroll throughout the march to Denerim. But he schooled his face to stillness and politely listened to the old woman first lecturing Muirnara on the duties of a wife and then Loghain himself on the duties of a husband.

But in another sense of the word "maiden" it was still entirely true. He had thought for a long time that Muirnara had retained a surprising innocence despite all the things that had happened to her in the previous two years. Not naivety, nobody could ever accuse her of that, but a persistent ability to see the world and the people in it as better than they were - he had told her once it was her strength as a leader that her people then lived up to her vision of them rather than disappointing her. And she had mothered her party of misfits through a year that should have destroyed them all, and she had many times displayed a mature wisdom that would have graced a much older woman that the Taint would never allow her to become. Maiden, mother, wisewoman, this was a woman who transcended all the boundaries and drew them to herself, and he remained in astonishment that somehow she had chosen him.

He became aware that the Grand Cleric had now addressed him twice and he took Muirnara's hand quickly and slipped the silver ring back onto the finger he had removed it from only a few hours before. Her green eyes met his with love and trust, and he spoke the old vows from his heart, praying for the strength to keep them.

"With this ring, I thee wed, with my body, I thee honour. With the strength of my arm I thee defend, Muirnara Cousland, my beloved wife, that with the Maker's grace no grief or fear may pass our threshold from this day until our days shall end. This I call upon these folk here to witness."

Muirnara spoke the reply. "As I also call them to witness that I take thee, Loghain Mac Tir, my beloved husband, that I pledge to thee my love, honour and obedience through all the days that the Maker shall send to us."

The Grand Cleric laid a hand over their joined hands and gabbled a prayer that was completely drowned out by the cheering that had started outside and was now spreading inside the Chantry itself. The wellwishers were now pressing around them, Leliana was hugging Muirnara and he found himself being thumped on the back and congratulated by Bann Teagan of all people. It was left to the Queen to restore order and signal to Cauthrien and the other soldiers present to form up an honour guard that would at least permit the wedded couple to get to the Chantry door, whereupon they were overwhelmed by more wellwishers and almost forcibly dragged to the dancing area that had been set up.

It was expected that husband and wife should dance the first set, and Loghain had had enough foresight to arrange that the music played for it should be a simple melody with well known steps, since he considered himself at best an indifferent dancer and had no idea of his wife's abilities. But it was clear that Teyrna Eleanor had taught her daughter well, they survived it with no mishaps and to the accompaniment of a lot of cheering.

As the second dance began, Muirnara was whisked away on the arm of her brother and Loghain took the opportunity to slip back into the crowds. The eyes of the spectators, as he had told her that morning, were all on the bride, and he managed to make his way over to where Oghren, Sten and Zevran had commandeered one of the wine vats and seemed to be trying to drink it dry.

Oghren leered up at him as he approached and pushed a wine cup into his hand. "Good work, Warden. Get that poxy dancing over as fast as possible, and leave the lady to do the honours. Couldn't agree more with the battle plan."

He laughed and accepted the cup. The weak winter sunlight had bathed the Market District in gold, and while still cold for an outdoor party, great braziers stood everywhere and mulled wine and hot food were being served. It seemed hard to believe that not two months earlier this had been a blood drenched battle ground, and to the best of his knowledge he had felled the Hurlock General not ten feet from where they were sitting now.

Anora was moving through the crowds, smiling at people and uttering the gentle greetings that she was so good at and that he had never had the art of. The elf and dwarf did get to their feet as she approached. Sten did not, but he inclined his head towards the Queen and she returned the gesture.

"I thought I would find you here, Father. I would drag you out to dance again if I thought I had any hope of success, but you won't go, will you?"

"Not for choice, no. Let me get around a couple of cups of wine, and you might persuade me."

That was when they all saw the elf coming towards them. Zevran's shoulders tightened, he had clearly recognised who it was. Oghren and Sten did not, but they had taken their cue from Zevran and their hands were resting on their sword hilts.

The elf halted and made a polite half bow. "General Loghain"

"Dirrlis." From behind the elf he saw Muirnara pushing her way through the crowd and gave her a hand signal to back away, her presence would draw attention that he really didn't want. "You have a message for me?"

"From Hahren Valendrian. He requests your presence in the Alienage at dawn tomorrow."

Loghain nodded. "I have been expecting this summons. Tell your hahren I will be there."

The elf nodded, bowed again, and made his way out towards the Alienage gate. Muirnara joined Loghain as soon as he had left. Anora had also been told the story of the Wardens' passage through the Alienage and the promises he had made, and the Queen's face was unusually grim. She opened her mouth to speak and Loghain forestalled her. "Not now, Anora. Tomorrow."

He turned to Muirnara who also seemed about to say something, and silenced her with a lingering kiss, drawing a few wolf whistles from people nearby. "And the same goes for you, wife. For tonight, I am going to take you back to that dance square and disappoint half the Bannorn by dancing every set with you. Then I am going to take you back to the Warden compound, and spend the rest of the night making you forget everything in the world except me. And tomorrow can worry about itself."

He took her hand and the cheers went up as they made their way back to the dancing, smiles on their faces, and only those who knew them well saw the courage that painted smiles over fear.


	47. Interlude - Late Watch V

Night had fallen on the Warden compound. Zevran supposed there was really no very good reason for him to be keeping this vigil - there were guards on the gates that let out to the Market District, and the wedding party had seen Loghain and Muirnara in through those gates, to the accompaniment of a lot of ribald humour and shouted bits of advice that he was sure Loghain was in no need of. Then most of them had gone away to find the remainder of the wine - just because the bride and groom had made their exit was no reason to end a perfectly good celebration.

But there was something in him that felt the pair of them were owed this. With what was to come in the morning, they surely could have one night without fear, and he had set himself to keep guard over the end of the corridor that led to the Warden Commander's rooms. Anyone on Thedas with a problem now could just wait. They weren't going to get down that corridor.

But of all the possible people to deflect from heading down that corridor...well, the Crown Prince of Ferelden was the last one that Zevran had expected to see.

"Alistair, my friend, what on earth do you think you are doing?"

Alistair paused and looked at Zevran. "I was...I don't know." Although the man was carrying a wineskin he did not appear to be drunk. And Zevran had seen enough drunks in his time. Alistair just appeared very tired, and very sad.

"Sit down, my friend." The elf indicated the seat on the bench beside him.

Alistair sat, obediently, resting the wineskin between their feet.

"Now tell me - why were you going down there?"

"Because I'm a fool."

Zevran chuckled softly. "Admitting it is the first step away from foolishness and towards wisdom, my friend. But disturbing that pair on their wedding night would have been foolish indeed."

"I know. I doubt I would have got as far as the bedroom door. I don't know what I wanted to say to them. Maybe I was even going to apologise. I don't..." He looked at Zevran for the first time and there was a plea in his hazel eyes - pleading for what? "I don't know anything any more."

"And admitting that you do not know is the second step. My friend, you are becoming a wise man tonight."

That got a laugh, even if it was a rather bitter one. "I only wish it was true, Zevran." He gestured towards the corridor. "She was right, you know, when she finished things between us before the Landsmeet. It could never have worked. She's too decent, she would never have been the second woman in a token marriage. And she could never play the political games Anora plays, she looks at the world too straight. I knew that. I accepted that, even before the Landsmeet. And then, however much I was hurt, however much I felt she betrayed Duncan by sparing Loghain, I betrayed her far worse by first lashing out at her and then running away from my duty as a Warden. If we're tallying up betrayals tonight, I doubt Loghain would think I had the moral high ground on anything. And he'd be right."

Zevran smiled. "My friend, I long ago stopped believing the moral high ground exists in most questions, and I think that Loghain would agree with me. You may have run away - but you came back. You came to Denerim before we got here, and I know what you did here, Fergus Cousland talked to me a lot about the defence of the Docks when the darkspawn came. Without you, and those who fought beside you, there would be many hundreds more children without mothers, women grieving for lost children, men mourning their wives. Thousands made it onto those boats and out of the city, because of what you did. Do not tell me that counts for nothing."

"I know." He buried his face in his hands. "It wasn't enough though. None of it can ever be enough."

"For tonight, my friend, it is enough." Zevran claimed the wineskin, took a gulp from it. "Tomorrow they both face another ordeal - if the elves are greater fools than we think, she might be a widow by the end of it. Do not begrudge them their joy in each other tonight."

"I don't, Zev. Honestly, I don't." Alistair shook his head. "I was by Anora in the Chantry today, I saw how he looks at her, and how she looks at him. I went away immediately after the service, I didn't want to be the one casting a shadow on things. But Anora told me tonight about the elves. It seems so unfair, after everything we did for them. Everything she did for them. How can they possibly punish Loghain and not hurt her very deeply now? No matter what they do to him?"

"Alistair, you were brought up in the Chantry. This quote from the Chant of Light should not be new to you, my friend. "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof." Have a little faith that Hahren Valendrian is not a complete fool, and let it go." He changed the subject. "And so when will your own nuptuals be?"

"Anora says in about three months time. Time to finish rebuilding, sort out any repercussions from the Landsmeet at the end of this week, arrange a coronation - apparently that normally happens before the wedding." He took back the wine and seemed about to drink from it, then paused. "Zevran, can I ask you a favour?"

The elf looked surprised. "Certainly. What is it?"

Alistair was blushing now, it made him look far more like the boy Zevran remembered. "Anora and I won't be sharing a bed till the wedding. And you know that I...well, that I didn't know a lot before Muirnara, and if I'm honest, I still don't know a lot now..."

Zevran had a smile on his face. "And?"

Alistair squared his shoulders. "Can we take the rest of this wine somewhere - and can you tell me all the things you kept trying to tell me back in the travelling days, when I invariably ran away halfway through the conversation? I may blush, but I promise you I won't run."

"Of course." Zevran came to his feet and offered Alistair a hand to help him up. "Nothing learned is ever wasted my friend. We will go to the main hall, it will be deserted now, we will raise a cup of wine to the two of them and wish them joy and long life, and I will have great pleasure in answering anything I can."

Alistair took one last look at the corridor and stood up. "Lead on."

As they disappeared, the candles on the walls flickered in a draught as a door opened and closed, and then all was quiet.


	48. Chapter 48

It had been Loghain's intent to leave the compound well before dawn.

Muirnara knew Loghain all too well these days. Her orders to the gate guards had been that Warden Loghain was not to leave the compound unless she was with him. Not perhaps the most tactful way of beginning the first morning of a marriage, but she had not had time to think of anything more subtle. Better that they started the day with an argument than that he went to the Alienage without her.

Anora apparently knew her father even better than Muirnara, and was a far more subtle woman. An hour and a half before dawn, both of them were woken by an elderly servant tapping politely on the door and bringing in a tray containing a pot of tea, and a jug of hot water, and the message that Her Majesty the Queen would be arriving within the half hour.

Loghain recognised the servant instantly, he had come from Gwaren when Anora married Cailan and had stayed in the retinue of the new queen. He had been elderly then and must be ancient now, but bore himself with the same quiet dignity that Loghain remembered of him, a dignity that owed nothing to servility but to a knowledge of his own place in the world and his ability to fill that place. To express anger or frustration with the message in the man's presence would have been beyond unthinkable, instead Loghain politely accepted the tray, inquired about the welfare of the man's grandchildren (apparently five now, and one great grandchild on the way) and requested a quarter hour's privacy to shave and dress. The servant inclined his head and politely bowed himself out of the room.

Loghain looked at Muirnara. "Well, it saved whatever plans you had to stop me leaving without you this morning."

"How did you know I'd done anything?"

"Because if the positions were reversed, I'd have done the same."

He had climbed out of bed and was sorting through the small collection of clothing in the coffer chest, selecting a very old linen shirt and breeches. Muirnara raised an eyebrow. "You aren't wearing mail?"

"What would be the point? What's facing me is not something that mail would be any defence against. No, I go unarmoured and unarmed. If they decide to spare my life and flog me bloody instead, then I see no reason to spoil a good shirt either."

"How on earth can you joke about this?"

He looked at her with affection. "What other way is there to deal with the unthinkable?"

Muirnara sighed and also got out of bed. "You know I'm coming with you, don't you."

"I wouldn't dare try to stop you. Quite apart from the fact that I'm not sure just how I could stop you without tying you down to the bed and climbing out of the window, and my old joints probably wouldn't take it these days."

That got a half smile from her and she pulled a grey wool dress out of the garderobe, another one that had belonged to her mother. It was unornamented other than the laurel leaves in black embroidery on yoke and girdle. She laid out her blue Warden Commander's cloak beside it. "Then I go unarmed too. But they at least shall remember who I am and who you are married to."

He moved behind her to help her with the laces. "As you wish, Commander." The polite tones were spoiled by the dry chuckle at the end, and then he turned away, dropping a kiss on the side of her neck.

When they both came down to the Great Hall, they found breakfast laid out on the high table, and the Queen of Ferelden already seated there with a plate and cup in front of her. She beckoned for them to join her. The servant who had awoken then was pouring tea into another two cups. The servants who were usually present in the Warden compound were nowhere to be seen, clearly word had got round fast. There were no other wardens present either for which Muirnara suspected they could thank Zevran.

Loghain's face was grim but he bent to kiss his daughter's cheek and took the seat beside her. "You are not coming, Anora."

"And just how do you propose to stop me, Father? The days when you could lock me in my bedroom for defying you are long gone."

He raised an eyebrow. "I don't recall that it ever worked terribly well, even then."

"Yes, well, I could never quite believe that it took you three years to work out that I had a second key to that lock. Mother realised within a week."

He broke a bannock and started spreading honey on it. "I do not know what you think you can do. I gave them an oath, and you will not force me to break it, Anora. Do not even think of trying. And you gave me your word that whatever they did, you would order no reprisals."

"I know." Across the table her eyes met Muirnara's and for a moment the two women were in perfect understanding. "But as your daughter, I can plead for you, and as your Queen I can offer a blood price in mitigation. Both may be futile. But you will not prevent me from trying."

He shook his head. "So be it then. The elves' timing is truly atrocious, but I can see why they would want to do this before the Landsmeet."

"You think the timing bad?" Anora seemed surprised. "I thought in a lot of ways the timing was close to perfect. Hahren Valendrian is a more adept politician than I thought he was."

Loghain snorted. "Perfect? With close to a thousand soldiers in the Market District recovering from a party, and volatile enough to cause a lot of trouble if not sat on hard?"

"That's why I say his timing is perfect." Anora sipped from her teacup. "Valendrian is clearly a wise man. He has his own more volatile elements in the Alienage to control, the hotheads who clearly would be satisfied with nothing less than blood. But those hotheads are also well aware of the thousand drunken soldiers on the other side of a flimsy gate, and they would have to be both hot headed and beyond stupid not to realise that giving any more provocation than need be is great folly. Valendrian is paying you and Cauthrien a great compliment, Father, I wonder indeed that you cannot see it. He is showing his belief in your ability and that of Cauthrien to control your army even under these circumstances, by using this to control his own people."

Muirnara was slowly nodding to this. Loghain shook his head. "Far too subtle for me - but I will accept it if you say it is so."

The servant refilled the tea cups and left the hall at an almost invisible signal from Anora. The Queen continued. "Also, the first of the elves shipped to Tevinter returned two days ago. We have only yet traced about a quarter of those who were sent there, but that also may mitigate the mood of the alienage."

That surprised Muirnara. "How on earth did you manage to even get a quarter back so fast?"

Anora's smile was wry. "I sent some of the best people I had, with a lot of money, and the manifest of slaves that you took from the Tevinter slavers in the Alienage, together with a list from Hahren Valendrian of all those missing. I authorised them to offer three times the sale price for the return of any Fereldan elf purchased between certain dates. It has been my experience in the past that a surprising number of problems seem to go away if you throw enough money at them. The more worrying thing was that some of the slaves we have brought back were not from the Denerim alienage at all, but from Highever and other towns and we are now having to find out just what was going on there, since even the dubious authority given to the slavers by the Regent," she pointedly did not look at her father, "did not permit them to conduct their activities outside of Denerim. Something else was happening there."

"Howe." Muirnara's voice made the name an obscenity.

"Probably." Loghain's voice was equally grim. "No matter how much I thought I needed him, I should have known that he was a rabid dog, and that his judgment could no longer be trusted. The Maker alone knows he'd given me enough evidence by then."

The servant reappeared in the doorway to the hall. "Your Majesty, my lords and ladies, there is a Revered Mother requesting an audience."

Loghain glanced at the high windows, still showing darkness outside. "At this hour?"

"She was most insistent, my lord."

Anora glanced at Muirnara who nodded. "Show her in then."

The woman who was shown into the hall was of middle years with red brown hair cut just short of her shoulders. She made a graceful bow in the direction of the high table. "Your Majesty, Warden Commander, General Loghain."

Anora nodded her acknowledgement. "Revered Mother Boann. What brings you here?"

It had not escaped Muirnara that Anora knew exactly who this woman was, despite the fact that her robes proclaimed her a very low ranking member of the Denerim Chantry.

The Revered Mother addressed her answer to Loghain, despite the question having been posed by Anora. "My lord, it is my intention to accompany you to the Alienage this morning."

"Oh, is it?" Muirnara could see Loghain's irritation despite his level voice. "Why?"

"My lord, I am the chaplain to the Alienage and as such am known by sight to most of the elves there." She smiled, it did appear to come more easily to her face than most Revered Mothers, a lot of whom appeared to think that smiling was a sin that the Maker had unaccountably failed to add to the lists he presented to his creation, and it was down to them to rectify this oversight. "I will not interfere, my lord, or speak, or do anything you do not wish me to do. But many of the elves are pious folk, and the sight of me with you may remind them that vengeance is said to be the prerogative of the Maker alone."

He sighed. "Very well, Mother Boann. If you give me your word here and now that you will not attempt to intervene in anything they do."

"You have my word, my lord."

He pushed his plate away. "We may as well go. It is little short of dawn now, and if I stay here much longer it appears that half of Denerim are going to want to go along for the show."

As Loghain stepped out into the courtyard he could see that the guards assigned to the compound were drawn up in double formation either side of the path that led to the gates. Oghren, Zevran and Kristoff as the only Wardens in residence stood to the right of the steps. He did not need to turn his head to see who stood to the left.

"No, Cauthrien. You are not coming with me."

"My lord, if you will..."

"No. That is absolute." He turned to look at her and the expression on her face was as near to mutinous as he had ever seen it. "You may accompany me as far as the Alienage gates, and no further. Someone has got to prevent the Market District becoming a riot behind me, and you are the only one I trust to do it. Whatever happens to me today, you will not permit the soldiers to enter the Alienage and you will not permit any attempt at reprisals. You understand me? You are the only one who can hold them if the mood turns ugly, and this will be the greatest gift you can give me."

She still looked ready to argue, but with a sigh she nodded. "As you command, my lord."

The gates were opened and the small party stepped out into the Market District, Loghain flanked by Muirnara and Anora, with Cauthrien and the Revered Mother following behind. The entire place was the visible aftermath of an extremely good celebration, but there were surprisingly few drunken soldiers sleeping in gutters, most people were on their feet and there was evidence that there had been a lot of hasty sobering up by means of the nearest water trough. Mostly they were standing silent, watching the Wardens and their companions pass by. One man, braver than the others did step out in front of them.

"My lord Loghain." His voice faltered.

Loghain paused and looked at him. "Sergeant Kylon. You have something you wish to say?"

The sergeant sighed. "My lord - you don't have to do this. You really don't. Let me take some of the men, let me go and talk to..." his voice trailed off as he saw the expression on Loghain's face.

"Sergeant." Loghain's voice was quiet, but there was anger behind it. He then raised his voice, making sure that every soldier in earshot could hear him clearly. "The one thing, and the best thing you can do for me now, is prevent anyone following me. Because if one soldier under my command so much as sets foot in that Alienage without my permission or that of Ser Cauthrien - and he will not get that permission - then if I survive to the end of this day I will hang him. And if I do not, Cauthrien will see it done. Do I make myself entirely clear?"

"You do, my lord." The sergeant sighed and saluted.

They continued their walk towards the Alienage gates. He could see that the soldiers who were on gate duty there were some of his most trusted veterans - that had to be Cauthrien's doing again. They came to attention and saluted him. He returned the salute and glanced at Cauthrien, she nodded, dropped a pace back and turned to stand at parade attention behind him, facing the soldiers in the district as if making herself a one woman barrier between them and the Alienage.

Loghain nodded to the gate guards. "Open the gate."

With a grating of rusted metal the gate was eased open, and they passed through it.


	49. Chapter 49

The Alienage showed far more of the scars of war than the Market District, and it appeared little rebuilding had taken place beyond the piecemeal scavenging of damaged timber to patch holes in walls and roofs of the shacks that were not charred wrecks. Muirnara's lips tightened as she surveyed the damage. She had fully expected the rebuilding here to be haphazard. She had not considered the possibility that there should have been no rebuilding at all. Of course resources were limited, of course repairs were going to be slow. But nothing justified the total inaction here.

The second thing that she had not expected was that the place should be utterly deserted. She had thought that they would run the gauntlet of disapproval all the way down to the vhenadahl, instead the streets were bare and the few houses with blinds or shutters still had them closed.

_Where on earth are they all?_

Dirrlis was waiting for them, together with a female elf a few years younger than himself. Neither was armed - the tattered remnants of the posters which had been plastered all over the Alienage when Muirnara and her party came before the Landsmeet still flapped their rags in the slight morning breeze. Their warning was stark, that an elf who carried a blade would die by that blade. No matter what permission might have been given by Cauthrien in the immediacy of the siege, no chances were now being taken. Dirrlis had said to her in the battle of the Alienage that gratitude never lasts and no elf expects it to.

Muirnara's presence did not surprise them. Anora's presence clearly did. Dirrlis gave a respectful bow to the Queen, the younger girl seemed rather overawed and had dropped back slightly behind him. He tugged at her sleeve to pull her back beside him.

Loghain stepped forward. "Dirrlis. I am here, I am unarmed. What are your instructions?"

"To take you to the vhenadahl, General. They are all waiting there." He paused. "But I insisted on being the one who took you there."

Loghain barked a short, mirthless laugh. "Did you think I was likely to suffer an...unfortunate accident if you let someone else escort me?"

"No. I wanted to thank you."

"Thank me?"

Dirrlis indicated the girl. "General, this is my sister, Rilissa. She was returned from Tevinter with the slaves that were brought back. I wanted to thank you for your honouring of your promise. My father always said you were a man of your word, and you proved him right."

"It is not me that you need to thank." He indicated Anora. "My daughter the Queen sent the ships to Tevinter and found the money. "

"But it would have been easy for you to forget or to postpone your promise. It would have been easy not to come today. But you came."

In Dirrlis's eyes were all the betrayals, all the promises that had been made to elves and conveniently forgotten in the knowledge that the elves would never have the power to press for the promise to be made good. Rilissa dropped a small curtsey in the direction on the Queen who signalled her to rise, smiling. Anora addressed Dirrlis. "We will find the rest, Dirrlis. You have my word on it, and my word is good, as is that of my father who taught me that a man who does not keep his word is less than dust beneath a shoe. The ships have returned to Tevinter, more are coming home. But I am glad that your sister has been returned to you."

Loghain cleared his throat. "Let us go then." A chill wind was gusting the dust along the street and Muirnara could see her husband was shivering under the thin shirt he wore, even with the plain wool cloak he had thrown over his shoulders before they left the Warden compound. "I would prefer not to stand here and get any colder, enough of your fellows are going to assume I am shaking with fear rather than cold as it is."

Dirrlis looked amused. "I doubt many of them would ever think that of you, General Loghain. Not the ones who saw you face down the Hurlock General at the bridge."

As they walked through the streets that led down towards the great tree, Muirnara became aware that the Alienage was not as deserted as it had first appeared. People were coming out of the houses behind them, people had been watching from cracks in the windows. Someone's orders had kept them hidden, and Muirnara was inclined to think those orders had been Valendrian's, a way to prevent any unfortunate incidents before they reached him. Her respect for the hahren was growing by the minute.

The crowds waiting around the small square where the vhenadahl stood were unusually silent. Muirnara's swift glance assessed the numbers at around five hundred, roughly a third of that women and children - of course many of the refugees were not yet home, they were returning to the city on foot and it was a long, slow journey. The faces in general were less hostile than she had expected, more curiosity than anger, but she was well aware of how fast the mood of a crowd can change.

A very young child broke free from her mother and toddled towards the Wardens and the Queen. Halfway there, she stumbled and fell, bursting into tears. Muirnara turned towards her but Anora was faster, heedless of her skirts in the dirt she knelt down and picked up the little girl, murmuring soothingly to her as she scanned the crowds for the child's mother. An elven woman was hurrying forward, blushing as she reclaimed her daughter, murmuring what sounded like an apology as she tried to curtsey. Anora stopped her. "There is no need for apologies - Errian, isn't it? I remember you, your mother is a laundress at the palace."

"She is, your Majesty." The little girl had stopped crying, comforted by her mother's shoulder and by a dirty thumb in her mouth, she was watching the Queen with round eyes. "I wanted so much to thank you, your Majesty, my husband returned home from Tevinter three days ago. You turned our grief to joy, we shall not forget that."

Anora nodded. "We will find them all, given time and the Maker's grace. Maker's blessings on you Errian, and your little girl, and I would ask your prayers that I and my new husband to be may be blessed as you have been with the joy of a child."

"You have our prayers, your Majesty. Never doubt it."

Anora caressed the child's fair hair and turned away, behind the public smile Muirnara could see the pain of a childless woman, and the years that the Queen must have waited, and hoped, and smiled, and had hope turn to heartbreak, over and over.

The crowds had watched this exchange and Muirnara could see the ripples of approval there, the mood if anything was shifting slightly in their favour but that was no guarantee of anything. She admired Anora for her ability to make the most of any situation given to her - without any of it said out loud she had reminded everyone present that through the Queen's actions that child had had her father returned, and that the Queen herself was in fear for her own father's life. More than ever Muirnara knew she herself would not have made a good Queen, least of all with Alistair beside her. Their land was in good hands.

Valendrian was waiting by the tree. Beside him Muirnara recognised Shianni, and an older elf whose name she did not know but whose face was familiar, she had released the man from a slaver's cage when they had cleared out the hospice and the warehouse.

Loghain paused by the tree and bowed to Valendrian. The bow was returned. "I am here. I have kept my word. Do with me as you will."

"You have kept your word." The hahren was studying Loghain, one glance had taken in the presence of Muirnara, Anora and the Revered Mother. The old elf had one hand resting on the bark of the ancient tree as though drawing strength and wisdom from it. Perhaps he was. Somehow in all the fighting, the flames and the destruction the tree had stood, and even now there were tiny buds on the bare twigs, a silent promise that however long the winter, to the end of time it will be followed by a spring. "But what do you think we should do with you, Loghain Mac Tir?"

Muirnara could see that the use of Loghain's name without title was deliberate. The hahren was speaking to the man, not to the Warden, or the former Teyrn and Regent, or to the father of the Queen.

"I do not know." Loghain's answer was calm and quiet. "There is nothing you can do to me that would remotely be justice for what I have done. If you hanged me from this tree now, that would not give justice to those I wronged. Maybe it would give them a measure of closure. But no more. I think I no longer know what justice is, if I ever did. All that I can say is that I will abide by your decision, whatever that may be. And that there will be no reprisals for it."

"Even with your soldiers little more than a stone's throw away?"

"Even so. Cauthrien holds them there, and she knows what my orders are. There will be no reprisals."

Anora spoke. "And I give my word on that to add to my father's word. The Crown will take no action for what happens here." She paused, and all that she wanted to say and could not filled her face. "I told my father why I was coming here today. If there is any weregild that you will accept in mitigation of my father's actions then the Crown will pay it. And as his daughter I beg you for what mercy you are able to show him."

Valendrian's eyes turned to Muirnara. "You wish to say something, Warden?"

"I do." Muirnara stepped forward. "It is the law of every land that the Joining wipes clean the actions of a Grey Warden. We have recruited princes from their thrones, and murderers from the block. We do what we must to end a Blight." She paused. "But I have not made that argument in defence of Loghain, not least because he would never have allowed me to. My husband does not believe that there is any magic that can wipe away the consequences of a man's actions, and that all a man can do is set right what he has done wrong, to the best of his ability, and then live with what he cannot set right. I ask you only to remember this - if as the Regent he wronged you bitterly, then as a Warden he defended you with his own life. It may seem to you a feather in the scales against all that he did, but I would have you remember it. And I would also have you remember that he is my husband, and no matter what you do to him you punish us both, there is no other way."

Valendrian turned to Mother Boann. "And what say you, Revered Mother?"

"I say nothing." The Revered Mother shook her head. "I was only given permission by the Wardens to come here today if I said nothing, and made no attempt to intervene. There is not an elf here who does not know what I would have said anyway."

"I see." Valendrian looked at the three women for a moment, and then his gaze returned to Loghain. Muirnara's eyes fell on Shianni, standing quietly behind Valendrian , she could see the elf still favoured the leg that Morrigan had healed. As if feeling herself observed, Shianni's eyes snapped across and the two women regarded each other for a long moment.

_Oh Shianni. You hate him so much, and yet I saw the man you hate stand over you in the street where you lay wounded, and fight two hurlocks who would have slain you in the dust. And you know he saved your life, I can see it in you like a bitter taste in the mouth. Would you rather have died than owed him that debt?_

Valendrian seemed about to speak, and then he paused. A noise had started up the street that led back to the Market District - for one terrible moment Muirnara thought that Loghain's orders had indeed been disobeyed and a riot was beginning there, and then she recognised the sound for what it was. Cheering. Wave upon wave of cheering that was growing louder and closer. Something was happening up there.

_But who would they be cheering for?_

And then she knew. Even before the two men came into sight, she knew. For the elves here there were really only two heroes of the entire Battle of Denerim - the two men who had stood at the city Docks for days and nights without sleep, without rest, without hope, and had defended the helpless refugees boarding the boats. Who had risked their lives and the lives of the men with them for the sake of women and children, elves and humans, with fairness and without favour. The two men without whom many of the elves here would be either dead or grieving for loved ones.

Fergus and Alistair came down the street side by side, the one in black leathers and with the Highever laurels on his breast, the other in white silverite plate with the pale winter sunlight turning his sandy hair to gold. They were alone, no troops had come with them. They needed none. The elves were treating them as though they were more than human.

Beside her she could hear Loghain muttering under his breath.

"Bloody Cauthrien. I might have known that bloody woman would find a loophole in those bloody orders..."


	50. Chapter 50

All semblance of order had vanished. The elves were flocking around the two new arrivals. Muirnara could see that Fergus had an elderly elven woman clinging to his hands and talking in a torrent of words interspersed with tears; the odd sentence that she could make out made it clear that the woman's daughter and grandson had made it safely out of the city during the siege, and that this was something she held Fergus personally responsible for. Fergus was attending to her with the same grave courtesy that he would have given to a noble at the Landsmeet. Alistair was laughing as he gently moved well wishers out of his path to allow him to approach Anora; when he came closer he bowed formally to the Queen, a practiced, courtly move that he must have spent some time rehearsing. That was pure Alistair, what was not so familiar was his wicked smile as he took Anora's hand and lightly kissed her fingers as he straightened up. The gallantry got cheers from the elves and drew an odd thought from the back of Muirnara's mind

_Zevran's been talking to him. I wonder when that happened?_

Valendrian was watching the scene with an expression that hovered somewhere between irritation and amusement, but he returned the bow that Alistair gave him with calm courtesy. "Prince Alistair." A glance over to Fergus who had kissed the old lady on the cheek and managed to disentangle himself from her clutching hands for long enough to join Muirnara where she stood by Loghain. "Teyrn Fergus. You both honour us. Do I take it that the two of you have something you wish to say?"

"We do." Fergus glanced at Alistair who nodded, then went on. "When the horde came, I commanded ninety soldiers at the docks, and Alistair commanded another hundred and fifty. When the Archdemon fell on the top of Fort Drakon, fifty three of my men yet lived, and sixty of Alistair's. The others burned on a pyre at the docks five days after the city was freed. They died protecting the women and children of this city, human and elven. All of you here today knew this. The welcome that you gave to the two of us proved that. But I think that their courage earned us the right to be heard here."

There were shouts of assent, he nodded and raised a hand in acknowledgement to the assenters. "I could tell you that had it not been for my sister and for Warden Loghain, the story would have had a very different ending, and probably few if any of us would stand here today. But you all know that too. I am making you a very simple plea. Let the grieving end here. No man can pay the debt that Loghain has incurred to you all. His death would not pay the debt. Nothing would. So I ask this as his wife's brother. Spare her tears, and do not seek vengeance here. If anyone on Thedas has earned the right to some joy, then it surely now must be her."

Valendrian nodded, his face unreadable. "And you, Prince Alistair?"

Alistair cleared his throat. "If I told you I liked the man, I'd be lying. There was a point last year at the Landsmeet where if Muirnara hadn't prevented it, I'd have executed the man myself in front of his daughter. I think I was mad that day, mad with grief for a man I'd loved as a father, mad with despair at the size of a task I was facing, mad with pain at what I saw as betrayal. Now, I look back and I thank the Maker that she did prevent me from killing him."

_Well, I never expected to hear him say that..._

Alistair went on. "I was brought up in the Chantry. I had the Chant of Light drummed into me on a daily basis from eight years old. But only in the last months did I ever fully understand the part which we are always taught, that vengeance belongs to the Maker alone and the Maker repays. It is not for the sake of the criminal, it is because of what vengeance does to those who unleash it." His face was unusually grave. "When the sick joy of revenge is over, then people are left with nothing except the knowledge that another life is destroyed, and it has not brought back those lost. And despair follows it fast. Living, this man can make a difference. Dead, he is one more body in a city that has seen enough death. So Fergus has asked you to spare Loghain for the sake of his wife, and I ask you to spare him for the sake of his daughter who will be my wife. But I also ask you to spare him for your own sakes. Do not do this to yourselves."

Clumsy as the wording was, it seemed to have made an impact on several of the listeners. Revered Mother Boann had been listening with raised eyebrows. "Prince Alistair, it seems that the Chantry lost more than just a promising templar when the Wardens took you. I could not have said that better myself."

Alistair scrubbed a hand over his head. "I don't know that I was ever that promising a templar, Revered Mother. And I would have been a truly hopeless brother."

The Revered Mother shook her head. "The Maker knew what he was doing when he set you on the path you are on now." she declared firmly. "Nothing learned is ever wasted."

Valendrian allowed the conversations to die down and then turned to Loghain. "Have you anything that you wish to say in your own defence, Loghain Mac Tir?"

Loghain shook his head. "I have said it all before, that it was an evilly wrong decision at a time when there were no right choices. There is no mitigation for it."

Valendrian paused, and Muirnara saw something on his face that surprised her. Anger.

"I have listened to you all. Now you will listen to me."

There was silence.

"Do you know what your greatest crime was, Loghain Mac Tir? Not that you sold elves into slavery, evil though that might be. Your greatest crime was that you forgot."

He paused, caressing the bark of the tree while he assembled his thoughts. "You, who knew elves better perhaps than any other man alive, who fought so close with them in the Rebellion. You and King Maric, you knew us as few humans have ever known us. And you forgot. When the fighting was over, and we came home, you who should have made it your task to remember, you allowed us to fall into the back of your mind. You rebuilt a country with the help of elves and then you discarded them as a tool that had no use to you."

He swept a hand around the circle of humans, quietly listening. "Loghain forgot. But the rest of you judged us without knowledge. What did you think we would do to him? Brand him on the forehead? Cut off his sword hand? You already knew we would not seek his life, because one of our own died to save him. But you did not believe or you did not trust that we would have the wisdom to keep our word once given, or to seek justice rather than revenge. Teyrn Fergus, the elves of Highever speak well of your family, they call you just rulers and keepers of your word. But even you thought - it seems that all of you think of us the same - that elves are somewhere between domestic animals that can never quite be trusted not to turn and bite the hand that feeds, and children who are not clever enough to govern their own affairs, and must be guided for their own good. That is how you all see us. How you have always seen us. And you are wrong."

Muirnara glanced across to Anora whose face was still, calm and completely unreadable.

_How is she going to react? The indictment is true, and it is shameful, and we are all to blame - but she is the Queen. Few will ever have said something like this to her, if any._

Anora spoke quietly. "You speak truth. And you shame us."

_She believes that - but she could have said so much more, and she didn't. What is she thinking? What is she planning? I have come to know Anora, and there is never a time where she has not had so much else going on behind her public face..._

"You have shamed yourselves." The hahren's voice was quiet but implacable. "I am going to tell you the story of the woman who saved you, Loghain Mac Tir."

He looked from one face to another.

"Her name was Kallian Tabris. She was the daughter of Cyrion and Adaia, of this alienage, and she grew up here. When she came of age, a marriage was arranged for her as is our custom, and a young man came from the Highever alienage to wed her." He paused and looked at Mother Boann. "I see that you remember what happened, Revered Mother."

Mother Boann's face was grim. "It was a disgrace and a scandal. The son of the Arl of Denerim, Bann Vaughan, came into the alienage at the end of the wedding, and took Kallian, her cousin Shianni who was her bridesmaid and another girl. Kallian's husband Nelaros tried to defend her and he was killed by one of the guards. I tried to protest and they brushed me aside."

Valendrian nodded. "They returned the women the following morning. All three had been raped by the guards and by Vaughan himself, repeatedly. The Arl of Denerim paid reparations for his son's actions, but the money was given as a donation to the Chantry to prevent the Chantry calling for his son to be punished. The third girl, Hillora hanged herself two days after their return."

The old elf turned to Loghain. "Kallian found she was pregnant. The child of an elven-human union looks fully human, and an elf that bears one is stigmatised by her own people. Few would have blamed Kallian, this was in no way her fault, but the commonest outcome for this situation - and sadly it is not uncommon, there are many human nobles who have treated the alienages as their private whorehouses - is that the woman seeks herbs from an apothecary to cast the child out before it ever comes to term. Or if the child is born, they abandon the child on the Chantry's steps. But Kallian wanted to keep her baby."

His face was sad. "It could not have lasted. The Chantry take the children of elves and humans, just as they take those with magic, they say for a human appearing child to grow up in an alienage is not in the child's benefit - and since it is rare for an elf to even carry such a child to birth, the situation rarely arises. Kallian had thoughts of trying to take the child to Nelaros's parents in Highever, to appeal to the Couslands to be allowed to raise the baby - the Couslands were far more likely to listen to the appeal than the Arl of Denerim was. And then Ostagar happened, and Arl Urien was killed there, and Bann Vaughan disappeared - conveniently - when Arl Howe came to reinforce the Denerim arling."

Muirnara spoke. "We found Bann Vaughan in Howe's dungeons when we went after Howe. And we left him there. My elven companion, Zevran, knew something of what he had done and persuaded me that we did not need his support in the Landsmeet. Not at that price."

Fergus added "To my certain knowledge he was killed in the Westgate defence. Cauthrien released and armed Howe's prisoners after the Landsmeet, and he fought with us. A darkspawn arrow took him in the throat when the Market District fell."

"Too clean a death for that piece of shit." That was Shianni's voice, bitter and cold. An older elf laid a hand on her arm and whispered something to her and she subsided.

Valendrian went on. "And then Kallian herself died saving you, Loghain Mac Tir. A short life, and a grief filled one."

"And a valiant one." That was Loghain's voice, low and sad. "A woman who clearly never took the easy choice in her life. What became of her child in the siege?"

"He is here." Valendrian beckoned to an older woman in the crowd and she came forward, a sleeping child of about nine months old resting against her shoulder, wrapped in a ragged blanket. "Another orphan of war, among so many. The Chantry would no doubt take him still, as they would have taken him from her anyway sooner or later."

The old elf paused. "I say that is not what shall happen to him."

He looked Loghain full in the face. "This, then is my judgement on you, Loghain Mac Tir. That you shall take this boy, the child of the woman who died to save you. That you shall adopt him as your son, that you shall bring him up in love as your own child. That you shall teach him of the elven side of his heritage as well as the human, than when you come to Denerim you shall bring him here so that he grows up knowing his elven kin, he has a grandfather and cousins yet living here. And when he is old enough to understand - you shall tell him what you did here, and why. You will not get the chance to forget again, Loghain. That is my judgment. Do you accept it?"

_I think I've just been hit in the face by a bucket of ice water... How on earth will Loghain react to this? I said there was nothing they could do to him that would not punish me too...is this a punishment or a great blessing? Or both?_

Whatever any of them had expected it was not this. There was utter silence. Loghain nodded slowly and echoed Muirnara's thoughts. "You are a wise man, Hahren Valendrian. And a ruthless one. I do not know whether you have given me the worst punishment I could imagine, or the greatest gift that I have ever received. I honour your judgement. And how fortunate that there should be a Revered Mother here able to witness this. Mother Boann, may I have the loan of your dagger?"

The Revered Mother passed the tiny dagger to him, he paused. "Valendrian, what is his name?"

"His name is Darrian." It was Shianni who answered. "Kallian named him for her twin brother who died when she was a child."

Loghain made a small cut on the heel of his hand, dipped a fingertip in the blood and traced the sign of Andraste's Flame on the forehead of the sleeping child. "Darrian Bryce Mac Tir, thou art blood of my blood, in the sight of the Maker and of his Blessed Bride. I name thee this day as my son before all present here." He lifted the baby into his arms, gently rested the boy's head against his shoulder and carried him back to Muirnara.

Muirnara swallowed hard against the lump in her throat that had risen when Loghain named the child. The elves were quietly dispersing around them, moving back into houses and away up side streets. Anora had withdrawn a little way and beckoned the hahren over to join her, the two were deep in conversation with Alistair and Fergus listening to them.

One of the child's hands had slipped outside the blanket, she wrapped her own warm hand around the cold little fingers. She had had little contact with infants, for a nine month child this baby seemed small, without the infant roundness to the face that a well fed baby showed. Of course food had been scarce in the Alienage even before the siege, and probably far worse afterwards. Did a child this age still need a wet nurse?

"He won't need a wet nurse." That was Loghain's voice, soft and with a note in it that Muirnara had not heard, she realised that she must have spoken out loud "He has probably been eating solid food, however poor, for a while now."

"You will still need a nursemaid though." That was Dirrlis's voice, the elf and his sister had remained behind when the others dispersed. "With your permission, Wardens, my sister and I would like to take service with you, and she has been nursery maid to a Denerim merchant family. I can turn my hand to many things, you will have to tell me what you need. Neither of us have kin remaining here, and the Alienage holds too many bitter memories."

Loghain nodded. "You are both most welcome. Gather what belongings you have and meet us back at the Warden compound - you can tell the Wardens there we will be following. I have no doubt that the rumours are already multiplying through the city as to what happened here today, so better the true version gets out as fast as possible."

As the two elves walked away, Muirnara tucked the child's hand back inside the blanket. "I don't think I know how to be a mother." The words were very soft.

Loghain laughed, equally quietly. "I don't think I was ever the greatest father in the world either, Muirnara. Perhaps we can both learn together." He touched Darrian's sandy brown hair. "His hair curls as much as yours does."

A gust of cold wind made them both shiver slightly, and the baby opened his eyes. He appeared very solemn as he surveyed the two people looking down at him, but he did not appear afraid. His eyes were a clear, pale blue.

Muirnara swallowed. "He has your eyes, Loghain. That is just...strange."

"All babies have blue eyes, love. But his do look like they might stay that way."

The baby gave a little hiccuping cry and Loghain offered his free hand to Muirnara. "Come, love. We go home."


	51. Chapter 51

Their progress back to the Warden compound was slow - they were greeted by cheering as they passed through the gate to the Market District. Cauthrien was still standing at the same parade-ground attention that she had been in four hours earlier, she gave the impression of not having moved so much as a muscle in the interim hours, but the slight sagging of her shoulders as she saw Loghain spoke of her utter relief. He had a small smile on his face. "Dismissed, Cauthrien. You have done well."

"Yes, ser." She beckoned and then spoke a few words to the veteran sergeants who had been guarding the gate to the Alienage. Two remained at their posts, the rest went to speak to the soldiers and Muirnara saw the Market District change to a hive of activity as the party debris was cleared up by hundreds of willing hands. Storekeepers were setting out their stocks, the Chantry doors were open and a squad of Templars appeared to be carrying out the cleaning duties within the Grand Cathedral. Many curious eyes were studying the baby in Loghain's arms, but few approached, the word had gone out before them. Whatever garbled version of the actual events was passing around would have to wait till later.

Darrian seemed very overawed by the attention and by the size of the area and was clinging to Loghain with both little hands, burying his face in his new father's shirt to hide his eyes. Loghain was humming something under his breath, with some surprise Muirnara recognised it as the tune of a very old lullaby, and had a sudden vision of her husband, much younger, pacing a room with a fretful teething baby Anora years before she herself was born. There were huge parts of his life she would never know about, and would not even know how to ask, but the glimpse was intriguing.

Their arrival back at the Warden compound was greeted with more cheering, and with a few tears, most notably from Mistress Malia, the elderly housekeeper there who had been sent to them by Fergus. She had been a Cousland servant at the family's city manor for many years and Muirnara remembered her from visits to Denerim as a child. The woman was greyer in the hair and heavier in the build but was the same large comforting presence that the small Muir had run to with grazed knees and broken toys - and it was clear that the woman saw Muirnara very much the same as she always had, as an indulged child to be petted, fussed over and occasionally scolded for her own good. She had tried to refer to Muirnara as Warden Commander and had failed, within a day she was calling her "Miss Muirna" as she had always done, and Muirnara did not correct her. Even if it made Zevran and Oghren chuckle.

"Well, and Miss Muirna you've had us all in a right taking this morning, and we were so pleased when the elven lad and lass came back to tell us what had happened - I've got the servants clearing the little office on your corridor for a nursery, and the elf lad - Dillweed...no, Dearlass...strange name for a boy, that can't be right...well, anyway I gave him some money and sent him out to buy some of the things you'll need, sensible of you both to bring back a nursery maid and the girl seems a sweet lass but could do with some feeding up, there's no meat on her bones and is this the wee lad, what a little sweetheart, come to Mistress Malia my love..."

All this was said without a pause for breath as she reached out to take the little boy, who submitted to the new adult with the same curious calm that he had showed to Loghain and Muirnara in the Alienage. Mistress Malia was talking to him now in the same stream of words as she peeled back the blanket, "poor little soul, you've got no flesh on you either, did nobody feed you in that nasty Alienage, come with Mistress Malia and we'll find you a nice warm bath - Garrill, go get my smallest laundry tub with warm water and some of the soapwort in it," she was running her fingers through the child's hair and wrinkled her nose at the nits clinging there, "and oh dear, we've got little visitors, never mind, some whiteroot and rosemary and a fine comb will sort that out, and then we'll find you some nice lunch, there'll be some boiled egg mashed with a little butter, I doubt you've ever eaten anything like it before and..."

The words were trailing off down the corridor as she carried the baby towards the scullery. A final order sailed over her shoulder. "And Miss Muirna, you and Teyrn Loghain are to go and have some lunch, it's all ready!" The scullery door banged shut behind her.

Loghain looked at Muirnara and laughed. "Well, at least one person here knows what we should be doing."

She smiled. "Mistress Malia will never change. Maker bless her."

"Do you ever think you'll convince her I'm no longer the Teyrn of Gwaren?"

"Well, I can't convince her that I'm the Warden Commander or that I'm not five years old, so I wouldn't hold your breath?"

The afternoon seemed to go by in a daze. Muirnara took the opportunity to go through a large stack of paperwork they had found in an office which presumably had originally belonged to Duncan. Loghain had seemed restless and with servants banging furniture about in the room next to the Warden Commander's apartments there was little peace to be had. After she had watched him pace the floor for what seemed like the hundredth time, she finally turned round. "My love, why don't you do and take some of that energy out on the new recruits? We've got that Mahariel elf and the woman knight that Cauthrien found, and we haven't assessed either of them. Go and spar rather than wearing a track in the carpet?"

"It's not a bad idea." He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "I'll take Hazel and Nut out with me, they could use a run. Don't spend all afternoon on those papers either, I doubt very much that you'll learn how to be a Warden Commander by studying a stack of unpaid bills and final demands from Denerim traders, all of them dated ten years in the past."

She wrinkled her nose at him, he chuckled and whistled the dogs to his heels, "I'll be back in a couple of hours."

After that an uneasy peace did indeed seem to reign, even the absence of further banging from the room next door suggested that the furniture removals were finally finished. Mistress Malia appeared towards dusk with a pot of tea and a plate of small cakes, and the news that the baby had slept most of the afternoon after his bath and his lunch. "That lass Rilissa has charge of him now and I told her to bring him in to you after he has his supper. The Queen, Maker bless her, has sent up a cradle from the palace, ugly old thing it is but the carvings are very fine and I'm sure she meant well so I've told the servants to bring it in here rather than the nursery since there's a crib in there already, then she can see it if she comes to visit you and if the little boy doesn't like it then there's no harm done, maybe you can use it to keep your papers in or something. I've sent a servant to tell Teyrn Loghain that there's tea waiting for him here and to give those poor recruits a break, he's been running them ragged all afternoon and the woman looks fit to drop, poor lass could probably do with a nice cup of tea herself once she's had a wash. Now don't let that tea get cold, Miss Muirna." She bustled out.

Loghain reappeared ten minutes later, bringing a gust of cold wind in with him. He had a bruise on one wrist, a tear in his shirt, and seemed a lot more relaxed. She poured him a cup of tea. "How did the recruits get on?"

"They aren't bad at all. The woman knight - Mhairi - she got a touch on me on the second bout." He indicated his bruised wrist. "Good shieldwork and a solid grounding in the basic strokes. She's decent with a longbow too - not in the league of the elf though. He's an outstanding archer but his bladework is poor - fast but inattentive, he gets distracted too easily. I paired the two of them initially so I could see how they did, but stopped it after five minutes, she'd already got five touches on him and three of them never should have landed if he'd been paying attention. I might turn him over to Zevran, they're both two-blade fighters and Zevran will sharpen him up a lot." He drank some of the tea and reached for a cake. "Have things calmed down here? The banging seems to have stopped."

"I think they're finished next door, at least for the moment," She refilled her own teacup. "Rilissa's going to bring Darrian up later."

"Good." He stood up and eyed the tear in his shirt. "I think Mhairi must have made that two touches, not one. I didn't even realise this was ripped." He had a frown on his face. "I wish I felt better about her and the Joining."

Muirnara looked at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you remember your impassioned speech to Zevran in the stables about mad fools with their minds full of glory and griffons? This girl isn't a mad fool by any standards - but the yearning for glory and griffons is definitely there. She seems very young to me, despite the fact that Cauthrien said she was in her middle twenties." He shrugged. "It's not like any of us really know what makes someone more or less likely to survive it. Another of those pieces of information that Weisshaupt did not see fit to share with us."

"If they even know themselves."

"True."

Another set of bangs heralded the arrival of the cradle described by Mistress Malia - Muirnara found herself agreeing with the woman's assessment of its aesthetic qualities. It was made of a heavy dark wood, set low to the ground on rockers, and carved with great skill and a total absence of taste on headboard and footboard with a florid design of cascading ribbons and flowers. Loghain raised an eyebrow. "What on earth is that monstrosity?"

"A gift from your daughter. I have a suspicion it's my new container for paperwork I don't really want to do anyway."

A tap on the door and Rilissa came in carrying Darrian, now clean and dressed in a pair of knitted blue woollen leggings and a hooded sweater of the same colour. She bobbed a diffident curtsey. "Mistress Malia said to leave him here and come back for him in a couple of hours?"

"That's fine, Rilissa." Loghain took the baby from her.

She curtseyed again and slipped out the door. Loghain regarded his new son. "Well, Darrian, you certainly look a lot cleaner than when I saw you last. What do you think of this cradle?"

Darrian's opinion was clearly as negative as Mistress Malia had anticipated, when placed in the cradle he took one look at the carved dark walls surrounding him and started to cry. Muirnara picked him up and placed him on the hearth rug beside Nut. The crying stopped abruptly and he regarded the puppy with wide eyes. Nut seemed equally curious, he sniffed Darrian, seemed to detect some hint of Loghain's scent on him and obviously came to the conclusion this was a pack member. He gave the little boy's cheek a tentative lick, and then nudged his own ball over. Darrian reached out to touch the ball as if unsure what it was, and it rolled out of his reach. Nut nudged it back again. Darrian still wasn't smiling, but he seemed intrigued.

Hazel was watching this and with a sigh she climbed out of her basket and went to lie on the hearthrug, interposing her body between the small fire and the puppy and baby. Loghain smiled. "There you are, the other nursery maid has taken up duty."

Muirnara laughed. Hazel gave her a martyred look and dropped her head on her paws.

Loghain picked up his teacup. "So was there any message sent from Anora? Or just the cradle?"

"Yes." She passed him Anora's note, which Mistress Malia had delivered with the tea things. "She wants us both at the palace tomorrow morning, two hours before the start of the Landsmeet. Apparently she has several things she wishes to discuss with you before it starts."

"That sounds ominous."

"Very. But given how I feared this day would end, I find it very hard to worry now about the political games." She looked at him. "I feared I would end this day a widow. I never thought I would end it a mother."

He moved closer to her on the bench they were sharing and kissed her ear. "The day isn't over yet, my love."

"It's over as far as I'm concerned. I don't think I can take many more shocks."

"Well, hopefully the worst shock you are likely to get now is that our new son has soiled his breechclout." Loghain sniffed the air and shook his head. "Well, he hasn't yet. But it's a probability bordering on a certainty within the next hour."

She smiled. "That level of shock I can probably manage. It can't be worse than clearing up after a Mabari puppy who hasn't really got his head round the whole house training idea yet."

Loghain pulled a face. "Oh, trust me, love. It can."

They were interrupted by a yelping bark from Nut and both looked over. The puppy had managed to climb off the hearth rug and into the rocking cradle, and was now standing with his paws on the rim, wobbling from side to side as the cradle swayed. Hazel with an exasperated bark got up, picked her errant offspring up by the scruff of his neck and dumped him back on the rug beside Darrian, who while not smiling appeared to be losing some of the solemnity he had displayed. He reached over to pat the puppy's shoulder. Nut licked his fingers. Darrian made a surprised noise and examined his fingers, now damp. Nut wagged his stumpy tail.

Muirnara found she had a hint of tears in her eyes while watching them. "You know, I can almost believe in a future now."

Loghain put a hand over hers. "Believe it, love. That future is playing in front of you."


	52. Chapter 52

Muirnara entered the room at the end of what had clearly been quite a long argument between Loghain and Anora. From the body language, she would guess that Loghain had won. But Anora did not seem desperately unhappy with the outcome.

"So are you certain that this is how you wish me to handle this, Father? I doubt there will be a lot of argument, but it would not have been my first choice."

He nodded. "If you think this will cause a lot of arguments, then it is nothing compared to the arguments that you would have faced if I had agreed to your first suggestion."

"No, you misunderstand me. I think that this is something that there will be almost no argument about at all. There will be certain members of the nobility who will not be pleased, and they will not be pleased for all the wrong reasons. But I did not survive as Queen by pleasing the whole of the Landsmeet every time; if you do that they just think of you as a doormat and walk all over you. It never hurts to show them the teeth occasionally."

Both of them turned towards Muirnara as she closed the door behind her. Loghain beckoned her over. "Did you finish your business with Arl Eamon successfully?"

"I did."

"And are you still refusing to tell either of us what it was?"

"Yes." Muirnara had a strange little smile on her face. "Suffice it to say that it was of historical interest, no more, and I gave my word not to tell. Would you have me break that word?"

"Of course not, wife. Though I might have preferred that you had not given your word in such a manner in the first place. But once given I would not have you break it."

Anora looked as though left to herself she might have probed a little more, but she nodded in a resigned manner. "I cannot force you to tell me. I would not, even if I could. I only want your promise that whatever it was will not surface to cause me trouble at this Landsmeet, it is going to be hard enough to control it anyway."

"That I can promise you. Indeed, if anything, the opposite should be the case."

"Now you really have me curious." Anora sighed. "Ah well. You know your own business best, Warden Commander, and in some ways this makes things easier for me. Because I don't intend to tell you what I've just discussed with Father, and there's good reasons for that. You've told me over and over that the Wardens are apolitical, but you know as well as I do that their history in this country gives the lie to that. Better for all of us if you truly do not know what is going to happen in this Landsmeet. Your reactions, your genuine surprise, will go a long way to discourage any ideas that the Grey Wardens were meddling in Fereldan politics in the wake of the Archdemon's defeat. At present the Bannorn would forgive you anything. When everything becomes more settled, grumbling will start, and it is better that the grumbling is directed against the Crown, as it has been for centuries, rather than against the Wardens of this country. I never again want a situation here such as we faced before Ostagar, where there is an enemy that can enter our country without warning and our only defence against that enemy is totally inadequate. This country has to get used to a large Warden presence again here, and we are fighting history here. Trust me, I know how it can be done, but you must let me play this my way."

Muirnara nodded slowly. "I can see what you are saying... Loghain, you know what Anora is planning?"

"I do. I will tell you that there is not a lot there which you will disagree with, but there are several things that will surprise you." He gave a half smile. "They certainly surprised me when she told me."

Anora stood up. "The Landsmeet will be starting in about five minutes. What I want both of you to do is to walk in beside me, and immediately go to the right of the platform. Alistair will be standing to the left. I want it made clear that you are being honoured, but that neither of you are claiming the right to be heard or to vote. I intend to leave the Gwaren place clearly empty, it will keep people guessing. If something happens that you as a visitor do wish to speak on, then do you know the procedure?"

"I do." Muirnara closed her eyes and recalled the endless lessons on protocol that Teyrna Eleanor had drummed into her. "Walk to the center aisle, bow once to the banner of Andraste's Flame and then beg the indulgence of the Landsmeet. Is that correct?"

"It is. I'm putting the pair of you together because if either of you want to bring something before the Landsmeet, it should be you who does it, Warden Commander. Given the last Landsmeet here, there will still be some feelings running high. Father, this time you will just have to bite your lip and allow your wife to do the talking."

He smiled at his wife and his daughter with genuine amusement. "And when have I ever been able to outtalk either of you?"

Queen and Warden Commander looked at each other.

"He has a point"

As they walked through the entrance hall that led to the Landsmeet chamber, they were met by an armoured Ser Cauthrien; for a moment Muirnara was taken back to the earlier Landsmeet and this woman barring her way. She had not wanted to fight Cauthrien, she had recognised the woman as far back as Ostagar for what she was, loyal to the core to Loghain. It had been one of the reasons that after the botched rescue of Anora she had surrendered to the woman. In a way it had been a lesser form of her reasons for sparing Loghain at the Landsmeet. This had been a time when the land needed every one of its heroes, and there was no time left for petty bickering and infighting. And then after the escape from Fort Drakon and the convening of the Landsmeet they had met her again here with troops, and for a dreadful moment Muirnara had believed they would have to fight their way in - and then with Cauthrien's deeply distressed words "I have had so many doubts of late" she had known they would win. If even Cauthrien had come to feel that way about the decisions that Loghain had made, then Muirnara had known she could carry the Landsmeet. Though she had not foreseen quite the way that the whole thing would go. She doubted anyone could possible have predicted the outcome of that day.

But today Cauthrien, arrayed in full armour and the Maric's Shield commander's insignia, showed no intention of blocking their path. She called the honour guard to attention, formally saluted the Wardens and bowed to the Queen. "The Landsmeet is waiting for you, Your Majesty."

"Thank you, Commander." Anora paused. "Commander Cauthrien, once we enter the hall I wish you to turn command of these soldiers over to your second and follow us in. When the Wardens move off to the right, you are to go to the left of the platform and stand by Prince Alistair. There will come a point where I will call on you and I want you near me and waiting. Do you understand?"

"Yes, your Majesty." A hand signal called another knight into her place and she glanced at Loghain, asking a clear question with her eyes. He just smiled and gestured to her to follow them.

As the doors opened for them, Muirnara found herself remembering one of her early political lessons as a young girl, about the Landsmeet - she had been given a document to read written by the Chantry scholar Sister Petrine. Only the last paragraphs remained in her memory,

" **The king is, in essence, the most powerful of the teyrns. Although Denerim was originally the teyrnir of the king, it has since been reduced to an arling, as the king's domain is now all of Ferelden. But even the king's power must come from the banns. Nowhere is this more evident than during the Landsmeet, an annual council for which all the nobles of Ferelden gather, held for almost three thousand years except odd interruptions during Blights and invasions. The sight of a king asking for-and working to win-the support of "lesser" men is a source of constant wonder to foreign ambassadors**."

Her tutor had added his own acid comments to it. "We have a form of governance," he had told her, "where our country stops entirely once a year. Everybody who is anybody moves to Denerim for a few weeks of drinking in taverns. Most of the business of the Landsmeet is done in quiet deals in those same taverns. Then everyone convenes in the Landsmeet chamber and they all shout at each other until everyone is too exhausted to go on shouting and some sort of consensus is reached. Then they all traipse off home to get over their hangovers and complain about the outcome, and the whole perfomance repeats itself the following year. The system is little short of crazy. But somehow - against all the odds - it works."

But whatever else the Landsmeet might or might not be agreed about on that day, it was clearly agreed on its opinion of the Queen who had led them through the Blight, the General who had led their armies to victory and the Warden Commander who had raised those armies and whose blade had felled an Archdemon. As the Queen came up the aisle to the dais, flanked by the mailed Wardens, the nobles of Ferelden were on their feet and cheering them. Anora acknowledged the cheers with smiles. As she reached the far end of the chamber Alistair stepped out and went down on one knee to her, she raised him and said something in his ear that he smiled at. There were some approving nods at Alistair's action from the older nobles. Alistair was also clad in full plate mail with the Theirin arms embossed on his shield and his resemblance to his brother and father was more evident now than ever.

_Did Anora tell him to wear that, or did he come up with it on his own? A while ago I would not even have had to ask that question, but he has shown a stronger grasp of politics in the last months than I would ever have thought he could manage. I am sure that Anora has been his teacher - but he has clearly been an apt pupil._

As she and Loghain took their assigned positions by the dais, she saw Cauthrien drop into place beside Alistair. Muirnara's eyes swept the chamber, more crowded than she could ever remember seeing a Landsmeet chamber, and she had been a watcher at the Landsmeets ever since her father saw her as old enough to behave herself and understand what was going on. She had always had the same seat, high up in the back of the galleries behind the representative for the Waking Seas Bannorn, now of course Bann Alfstanna but formerly the woman's father. It had been a good spot to observe without being noticed, and while Bryce had taught her to listen to what was said and what the objections were, Eleanor had taught her to unobtrusively study faces and body language and work out who was likely to support a motion, and who was likely to make trouble. Initially for the young Muir it had been a game - it was only later that Eleanor had explained to the older girl how such knowledge could be used, and indeed how an outcome could be manipulated. Muirnara had been horrified initially. Eleanor had smiled fondly at her. "My dearest, your father is a great warrior, and a great leader of men, but he is not adept at reading what men do not say, because he expects the whole world to be as straightforward and as honest as he is. Therefore he relies upon me to tell him the things that he would rather not know, and to explain to him how such things may be used. There may come a day when you yourself as a nobleman's wife will be the right hand of your husband in a similar way. Do not despise a weapon in your hand. Learn how it may be used."

She wondered now whether her mother already knew of the approach that Loghain had made to Bryce, with regard to marriage to his only daughter. For she surely would have thought of Loghain as similar to Bryce - honest and straightforward, a great warrior, but without the understanding of men's hearts. And she would have been right, at least in part. But Loghain had probably never been as trusting as Bryce in his whole life. He would have looked upon what men said and assumed the worst. And sadly would not often have been wrong.

Seeing Fergus in her father's place where the Teyrn of Highever traditionally stood caught at her heart a little and she swallowed against a lump in her throat, but Fergus caught her eye and gave her a quick smile that she returned. Beside him, Arl Eamon was also looking at her and she expected hostility in the gaze, but instead there was a calm appraisal.

_He looks upon me as I would look at a sparring partner who had unexpectedly defeated me in a bout. Not with hatred, almost with admiration. And of course with a determination that the next round should not go the same way. After what I said to him this morning, this is not how I expected him to react..._

Anora's voice behind her cut across the last of the cheers, and the room fell silent.

"My lords and ladies of the Landsmeet, I call this session to order."


	53. Chapter 53

The first items brought in front of the Landsmeet were relatively innocuous. A request for the Chantry to permit more healing mages to assist at various field hospitals - agreed to by the Grand Cleric with barely a murmur. A discussion of assistance for repatriation of some of the refugees that had fled to cities like Kirkwall before the attack on Denerim - some livelier debates provoked there as the Landsmeet split between the "they ran away, let them find their own way home" hawks and the gentler "Ferelden needs every pair of hands more than ever" doves. The motion was finally adjourned for discussion by a small group after the Landsmeet. An interminable report was presented detailing the rebuilding currently taking place in Denerim (behind schedule, not to the great surprise of anybody present).

When Fergus Cousland rose, there was a ripple of surprise in the hall, but Muirnara could see out of the corner of her eye that Anora showed no surprise at all, she clearly knew what was coming.

"My lords and ladies of the Landsmeet, Highever stands to request a change in the law."

Anora nodded. "You have the floor, Teyrn Fergus. Please go ahead."

Fergus nodded and paused for a minute to collect his thoughts. "Your Majesty, Prince Alistair, Grey Wardens, my lords and ladies. There is no man or woman in the hall present who does not know the story of the Highever massacre, and the deaths of my family. I do not wish to dwell on the subject here, there are none of us here without our own griefs. But it has left Highever in a difficult situation."

He looked around the hall and went on. "When I rode away to war at Ostagar, I left behind a teyrnir that was calm, prosperous and well governed by my father. When I returned to Highever after the defeat of the Archdemon, it was clear to me that this war's damage is not solely manifested in the Blighted lands. We will be rebuilding at Highever for a generation, and my people grieve for their losses. But that is not what I have come to talk about."

His hand gestured towards both Muirnara and Alistair. "Two hundred years ago, in this hall, a law was passed by King Arland that barred the Grey Wardens from holding any noble title in this land. All of you remember your history, and you know why he passed that law. Arlessa Sophia Dryden was the young Arland's rival for the throne of Ferelden after the old king left no successor. Dryden was a strong and charismatic leader with much support from the Bannorn. When Arland finally won the crown, Dryden refused to relent. She pushed her claim, was imprisoned and accused of treason. Her sympathizers continued to support her, however. In order to appease them, Dryden was spared execution and forced to join the Grey Wardens instead. Arland did not trust the Grey Wardens' own tradition of political neutrality, and he did not believe that becoming a Warden alone would prevent Sophia from trying again for the throne, so he sought to set a legal barrier in her way. As history showed, the Grey Wardens were indeed less than neutral in that conflict and it could even have been said to be a decision justified by subsequent events. But, my lords and ladies, two hundred years have passed!"

He turned to face the Landsmeet as a whole. "My lords and ladies, today we stand here only because of the courage of two young Grey Wardens, who raised a country to defend herself against the Blight. Alistair Theirin, son of Maric the Saviour, and Muirnara Cousland Mac Tir, my sister. And we are left in the incredible position where my sister who has demonstrated her immense loyalty to this country is ineligible to be the heir to Highever, despite blood right, and Alistair cannot by our laws take the throne of his father! My lords and ladies, is there one of you in this hall who thinks this is justice?"

He was drowned out by shouts from all sides, it was clear that the Landsmeet agreed with him. "Therefore, my lords and ladies, I ask you to vote to end this law, which has remained on our statute books for many years past its useful life, and to both permit our Crown Prince to take his throne, and my sister to remain in the position of heir to the Highever teyrnir should I die without issue. Highever has suffered enough in this war - let it not suffer the further distress and unrest of a contest of succession."

There were no dissenters. Muirnara could see that Arl Eamon had that calm smile on his face which usually meant he was thinking furiously.

_Eamon's no fool. He can see the implications. He is probably suspecting even now that Anora is going to use this to try to reinstate her father as Teyrn of Gwaren. I'm pretty sure that she isn't, because Loghain told me he would oppose it if if she tried, there's too much bad history there now. And from what I saw, he won that argument. But Eamon doesn't know that - and the way that Fergus put the motion to the Landsmeet has made it almost impossible for him to oppose it. Clever. Very clever. And while I do indeed believe the request came from my brother, I think Anora had a hand in the wording of his speech.. And Eamon knows it._

When the motion was passed, Fergus bowed to the Landsmeet. "I thank you, my lords and ladies, for your wisdom and your support in this matter."

Alistair took a pace forward and made a bow to the banner of Andraste's Flame. "I beg the indulgence of the Landsmeet."

There were smiles at this and an approving murmur. Bann Teagan was the first to reply. "My lords and ladies, while I applaud the excellent manners of our Prince, I think that perhaps we may dispense with some of the protocols today? Since neither is claiming the right to vote, I consider it a courtesy that both the Crown Prince and the Warden Commander should be permitted to address the Landsmeet without further ceremony if there is any item they wish their views to be heard on?"

There was a roar of approval, he smiled and turned back to Alistair. "Prince Alistair, the Landsmeet recognises your right to speak. Please go ahead."

"I thank you." Alistair bowed to Teagan and then addressed the Landsmeet as a whole. "My lords and ladies, I am not accustomed to speaking in public. And I am certainly not good at it. Most of you will remember my outburst at the last Landsmeet, and all that I can say is that I promise my behaviour will be better this time!"

A chuckle ran round the hall, he acknowledged it with a smile. "My lords and ladies, you have honoured me today and you have honoured the Warden Commander who deserves praise far more than I do! But the ending of the Blight was not the work of two people, even if those two people were the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden nearly two years ago. All of you fought for this land. All of you suffered for her. And there is one amongst you to whom I owe a very great debt of gratitude, both for his fatherly support when I was a child, and for his later support of the Grey Wardens at a time when most of this land considered them traitors and regicides."

His eyes met Eamon's. "Arl Eamon Guerrin, I wished to acknowledge that debt in front of all here today. And I also wished to ask you to remain by my side at least for a while, and if you will, to accept the position of Chancellor. I shall be in need of your wisdom for a time to come yet, and so I chose to ask you this here in front of the Landsmeet." He smiled, the boyish, open smile that Muirnara remembered so well. "Since I think this is the easiest way to ask this of you and not have you refuse!"

The Landsmeet applauded and Eamon stepped out to embrace Alistair. "My boy, your father would have been very proud of you this day." There was even a hint of a tear in the older man's eye.

Alistair returned the embrace. "I think, Eamon, that it is too early to say that. But I hope to indeed make him proud, given time."

_Nicely done. That's Anora again. She's wrongfooted Eamon in public by this offer, and Alistair I think hasn't seen it, he is still genuinely fond of Arl Eamon and sees this only as an excuse to keep the man near and as an honour for the man he thought of as a father. And because Alistair made the offer, Eamon has accepted the offer at face value. I doubt very much that he would have done so if it had been Anora asking him, he would be looking for the catch. And the main catch that I can see is that it stops him making a bid for Gwaren which he might otherwise have done - as both Arl of Redcliffe and now Chancellor, the Landsmeet would never tolerate him taking Gwaren as well, they saw only too well in Howe where that leads, when one man holds too much power._

Anora was smiling at Alistair and Eamon, but she rose after a minute and called the Landsmeet to order again. "As Prince Alistair has so rightly reminded us, my lords and ladies, the defeat of the Blight was led by the Grey Wardens but it was a war that took the people of an entire country to win. And not just our country. I wish to honour publically here the actions of a number of people, and to ask you, the Landsmeet, to agree to the rewards I wish to give them. May I have your attention then?"

There were nods, nobles were sitting down again and attention was firmly back on the Queen. Alistair had returned to his position by Cauthrien. Eamon sat down beside Teagan and muttered something in his ear which caused the Bann of Rainsfere to laugh quietly.

Anora spoke. "My lords and ladies, it is very hard for me to single out any one person out of you, the Bannorn. Great valour was shown by so many, if I stood here and read an account of the deeds of all those here we would still be here at midsummer! But there is one of the Banns who I wish to honour above all others for many reasons. Bann Alfstanna of Waking Sea, please step forward.

There was a murmur of voices and Bann Alfstanna stepped into the centre aisle, appearing very surprised by the attention. She bowed to the Queen.

Anora continued. "Bann Alfstanna, Ferelden owes you a very great debt. At a time when so many were unable to fulfil their obligations to the Crown when asked for troops, you not only stripped your lands to provide General Loghain with a full cohort of archers, but you sent longbows enough to permit the recruitment of many more bowmen on the march to Denerim, and it was in no small measure down to the actions of your archers that the Archdemon was finally driven to a point in the city where the Wardens could slay it. Your bannorn has been the refuge for many of the evacuees from Denerim and you and your people have cared for them with generosity and love. Fishermen and their wives from the Waking Sea brought a huge number of women and children out of the city during the Battle of Denerim, risking their own lives to do so. Bann Alfstanna, I do not know what reward we could possibly give you that would recognise everything that you have done. So I shall first ask this of the Landsmeet."

She looked beyond Bann Alfstanna. "My lords and ladies, are we all agreed here that this brave woman is deserving of our honour?"

A noisy and clearly unanimous assent was given.

"Then, my lords, I will say this. Waking Sea has since time immemorial been a bannorn under the auspices of Highever. With the agreement of Teyrn Fergus Cousland, I wish to elevate the status of Waking Sea to that of an Arling, and to give permission to Arlessa Alfstanna to construct a coastal fortress there of size appropriate to her rank. With the fortress of West Hill itself all but abandoned for so many years, the lack of a coastal Arling other than Amaranthine has been a flaw in our defences for many years, and it delights me that this flaw may be rectified in this manner while at the same time doing honour to one of Fereldan's most loyal daughters."

She might have planned to say more, but the cheering was drowning her out. Fergus was nodding approval with a smile, the newly created Arlessa Alfstanna was pink in the face but smiling, and Anora stepped forward to take her hands and murmur a few words in the woman's ear before releasing her to take her seat again and receive the congratulations of her neighbours.

Anora raised a hand and when the cheering died down, she continued. "My lords and ladies, we now come to the problem of Gwaren."

That caught the attention of many, it had not escaped notice that Gwaren's seat had remained empty at the start of the Landsmeet. Arl Eamon had visibly tensed across his shoulders and was watching Loghain intently. Anora glanced at her father, then looked at the Landsmeet.

"My lords and ladies, for thirty years Gwaren was governed by a very able Teyrn. My father. And my first choice would have been to ask him to take up that duty to the land again." She paused. "He has refused."

That clearly shocked many people. Fergus looked startled, he apparently had also been expecting Loghain to be returned to his old teyrnir. Arl Eamon frowned and muttered something to Bann Teagan, to which Teagan shook his head.

Anora went on. "General Loghain gave me these as his reasons. That there is too much history now that would need to be rewritten for him to step back into the role of Teyrn of Gwaren as if nothing had ever been. That Gwaren has deserved better than the controversy that he would bring back with him, and that the teyrnir deserves a new, younger Teyrn who can care for them. But my father has also reminded me that there is a precedent for the awarding of the teyrnir of Gwaren to a commoner, for service to Ferelden over and above all which might have been expected."

That also shocked the Landsmeet although it could be seen that many heads were nodding, particularly amongst the older banns who remembered the investiture of Loghain himself by Maric after the end of the Orlesian occupation. Whispers were passing round the hall.

Anora smiled. "Therefore, my lords and ladies, I bring this proposal to you and ask for your approval. One woman commanded the troops in besieged Denerim, against a foe with numbers ten times greater than those she commanded. One woman held the city against all the odds, without hope, because her loyalty to the land demanded it. One valiant woman led a desperate defence that somehow resulted in the city still holding out when the relieving armies came. My father has said, publically, that there was probably only one woman in Thedas who could have done it, and all of us owe her a debt that we cannot repay. My lords and ladies, I bring before you my wish that Ser Cauthrien should be honoured for her deeds by investiture as Teyrna of Gwaren, and I ask you for your approval."

Arlessa Alfstanna was on her feet almost before Anora had finished speaking. "Waking Seas supports the proposal"

Arl Wulff was not far behind her. "Western Hills supports the proposal"

Various major and minor banns were adding their voices. Cauthrien looked almost ready to faint, her face was white. Arl Eamon looked less than happy. His eyes met Muirnara's for a second, and then he heaved himself to his feet. "Redcliffe supports the proposal."

Then against the background of agreement came one voice that shocked everyone present. Fergus Cousland spoke.

"Highever opposes."


	54. Chapter 54

There was an uproar in the chamber. Anora clearly had not expected this, and was waiting for the shouting to die down. Fergus, surprisingly, had a smile on his face. Muirnara spared a glance for Cauthrien and was surprised again. The woman was looking at Fergus and it was clear some message had just passed between the two.

"Did you know that your brother was going to object?" That was Loghain's voice, quietly just behind her shoulder.

"I didn't know what Anora was going to propose for Gwaren, so no, I didn't know that Fergus would oppose it."

Loghain was looking between Fergus and Cauthrien. "There's something else happening here."

Anora had raised a hand for quiet but very little attention was being paid to it. Muirnara switched her attention to Arl Eamon who had also been startled, it seemed, by the turn of events. His gaze switched sharply to her as if he felt himself watched and the question was clear in his eyes.

_Is this your doing?_

She gave a tiny shake of her head, a flicker of his eyes acknowledged it. His gaze went back to Fergus again.

Her mind drifted back to that morning

_Arl Eamon had not expected me in his chamber before the Landsmeet. Still less had he expected the letter I brought with me. I placed it before him on the table and saw his face go grey as he read it._

_"Where did you get this text?"_

_"It is a copy of one I have safely put away." I told him. "It was found in a chest in the remains of Cailan's tent in Ostagar."_

_His shoulders slumped as he turned towards me. "I take it you have already shown the original to your husband? And to the Queen?"_

_"No."_

_That surprised him. He stared at me._

_I looked down at the letter on the table. I did not need to read it again. I already knew it by heart._

_**Your Majesty,** _

_**My men will arrive as soon as possible to bolster your forces. Maker willing, this Blight will be ended before it has begun.** _

_**Cailan, I beseech you, as your uncle, not to join the Grey Wardens on the Field. You cannot afford to take this risk. Ferelden cannot afford it. Let me remind you again that you do not have an heir. Your death-and it pains me even to think of it-would plunge Ferelden into chaos** _

_**And yes, perhaps when this is over you will allow me to bring up the subject of your heir. While a son from both the Theirin and Mac Tir lines would unite Ferelden like no other, we must accept that perhaps this can never be. The queen approaches her thirtieth year and her ability to give you a child lessens with each passing month. I submit to you again that it might be time to put Anora aside. We parted harshly the last time I spoke of this, but it has been a full year since then and nothing has changed.** _

_**Please, nephew, consider my words, and Andraste's grace be with you.** _

_**Your affectionate uncle** _

_**Arl Eamon Guerrin** _

_Eamon broke into my thoughts. "So, if you have not shown this letter to Loghain, or Anora, what is your intention?"_

_I looked at him. "Let us be frank, Arl Eamon. You were not happy that Anora and Alistair chose to marry. You were not happy that I myself spared Loghain or that I later married him. You fear that the balance of power has shifted, and not in your favour."_

_He looked at me. "Go on."_

_"I wish you to understand this. Whatever you like to believe, Grey Wardens are indeed not political. That does not mean we are political fools. I spared Loghain for the same reason that I persuaded Alistair and Anora to marry. And for that same reason, I have not shown this letter to the Queen or to her father. How much influence do you think you would have with the Queen if she knew of it?"_

_He shook his head. "I would never call the daughter of Teyrna Eleanor Cousland a political fool, my lady." Now the initial shock had worn off there was actually a half smile on his face. "Get to the point. What is it that you want?"_

_I took a deep breath. "When this Landsmeet is over, I shall return the original to you. You will burn it in my presence. Neither of us will ever refer to it again. And if in politics I am my mother's daughter, then you must also believe that in honour I am the daughter of my father. I believe, despite other interpretations that could have been put on this, that you indeed had the good of Ferelden at heart when you gave Cailan this advice. I am asking you to remember that the good of this country now depends upon clear decisions at the Landsmeet, and not another civil war. If you have grave doubts about what Anora brings to this Landmeet, you may raise those doubts as any other noble may. But I ask you that you do not do anything at this Landsmeet that will weaken her position at a time when the land needs a strong Queen."_

_He was not expecting that. I don't know what price he had expected me to put on the letter? Money? Land? Political influence? He stared at me, then he bowed to me. "You are indeed your father's daughter also, my lady. Bryce could have said all of that."_

_He handed me back the letter. "I shall do as you ask. I will accept your word, the word of a Cousland, that no other copies exist and that you will do as you have said when this Landsmeet is over." He still had that smile on his face. "Politics will force themselves on you sooner or later, my lady, Warden or not. There will be many times where we face each other as opponents. For this Landsmeet, I remain the shield at your back. May all our dealings be as honest as this one."_

_I saluted him with crossed arms, a salute as my father's daughter rather than as a Grey Warden. He was angry, I could see the anger below the smile, but somehow I trusted his word as he trusted mine. We would never be friends, and probably after this day we would rarely be allies. But an honorable enemy is also a gift from the Maker, and one not to be despised._

Muirnara's attention was brought back to the present by Anora calling for order for the third time, a note of exasperation in her voice. This time people did seem to be listening and the grumblings were dying down to a subdued murmur.

"Teyrn Fergus, you have an objection to this proposal?"

"I do."

"Would you like to explain it to us?"

Fergus's eyes met Cauthrien's once more, then he faced the Queen. "It is very simple, Your Majesty. As a noble of the Landsmeet, there is no way that I could support the disruption of the power balance in this country that would be caused by the Teyrna of Highever also being the Teyrna of Gwaren in her own right."

There was a stunned silence while people worked out what he had just said, and then the Landsmeet exploded for the second time in five minutes, this time with raucous cheers. Anora clearly gave up any attempt to quieten things down and stood gazing at Fergus with an long-suffering smile on her face. Fergus walked out from the Highever place to take Cauthrien's hand and stand with her before the Queen and the Wardens. Muirnara's attention was caught by Alistair's smug grin.

_He knew. Maker help us, Alistair knew this was coming, and didn't say anything. I'm going to strangle him._

As the room quietened, Anora spoke. "Teyrn Fergus, are we talking now about a prospective marriage or one that already exists?"

"Ser Cauthrien is already my wife, Your Majesty. Revered Mother Boann married us by special dispensation on the fourth day of the Siege of Denerim."

"I see." Anora sighed. "Teyrn Fergus, you do know that members of the nobility are not supposed to contract marriages without at least the courtesy of notifying the Crown that such a marriage is to happen?"

"The circumstances were somewhat unusual, Your Majesty. And indeed it could have been argued that I was not strictly a member of the nobility at that point, since the usurper Arl Howe was the last holder of the teyrnir of Highever, and the Crown did not confirm me in my father's stead until after the death of the Archdemon."

"Well, what is done is done." Anora was smiling, even if there was a degree of exasperation in the smile. "It therefore remains only for the Crown to congratulate you both and wish you long life and happiness. And to sort out the headache you have now left me with. Teyrna Cauthrien, perhaps you would like to stand with your husband for the rest of this Landsmeet?"

"Your Majesty." Cauthrien bowed to the Queen. Fergus took his wife's hand and kissed it, and the pair of them walked back down the aisle to renewed cheering.

When the room settled, Anora was about to speak, when Loghain walked into the center of the room and bowed to the banner of Andraste's Flame. "I beg the indulgence of the Landsmeet."

Anora clearly looked about to tear her hair out, having gone to a lot of trouble to prevent her father speaking. Fergus Cousland answered for the Landsmeet. "The Landsmeet hears you, Warden Loghain. Please go ahead."

Loghain addressed his first words direct to Fergus. "Firstly, Teyrn Fergus, may I congratulate you on your marriage - and while I would have said for many years that there was no man on Thedas worthy of the hand of Ser Cauthrien, I will at least give you credit for coming closer to that impossible standard than anyone I know."

That got a laugh from the room, a blushing smile from Cauthrien and a chuckle from Fergus. Loghain went on. "My lords and ladies of the Landsmeet, I have a suggestion to put to you for your consideration concerning Gwaren."

Arl Eamon had tensed again. Muirnara was studying Loghain intently.

_What on earth is he going to suggest?_

"My lords and ladies, we have honoured the heroism of Arlessa Alfstanna whose archers turned the Battle of Denerim, and that of Teyrna Cauthrien who commanded the siege. I wish now to bring your attention to the heroism of another man, who paid a very high price for his service to this land, and who deserves our honour no less than these two brave women."

He turned once, surveying the whole hall. "When the Battle of Ostagar was lost, the spawn swarmed north and east into the Hinterlands. The Arling of Western Hills covered much of the Hinterlands and the Southron Hills and stood as a barrier between them and the Brecilian Forest. When it became clear that the Arling had no way of standing against the numbers of spawn, Arl Gallagher Wulff evacuated as many of his people as could be saved down through the Brecilian Passage and into Gwaren, with their retreat covered by a dwindling army commanded by himself and his two sons."

Arl Wulff had risen from his seat, his face white. Loghain went on. "Both his sons died in that defence of a land that could not be saved. The Arling of Western Hills is a Blighted ruin in the south. But through his actions many of his people found safe refuge in Gwaren. By his desperate defence of the Brecilian Passage the north-south route through the Brecilian Forest remained open for most of a dreadful year before the Archdemon rose. Had we not been able to move troops and supplies that way, many outcomes might have been different in this bitter winter. My lords and ladies, my proposal is this. To all intents and purposes, the Western Hills arling no longer exists, and what little of its land remains unblighted is that on Gwaren's border. I propose to you that the Arling of Western Hills and the Teyrnir of Gwaren should be joined together as one, and that this joined Teyrnir of Gwaren should be governed by Teyrn Gallagher Wulff in recognition of his honour, his valour and his sacrifice."

There was no doubt at all of the Landsmeet's approval for this suggestion. Amidst the shouts of assent the only dissenting note was that of Arl Wulff himself. He was shaking his head and trying to speak. Loghain walked over and took the man's hands. "Old friend, nothing can make good your losses to you. But you have a widowed daughter in law still safe in Gwaren, and you have an infant grandson with her. They deserve better than the blighted hopes of the destroyed Western Hills. You governed your people with justice, and you defended them with honour until there was nothing left to defend. I trust you to care for my people in the same way."

Anora was nodding slowly as she called the Landsmeet to order again and took a formal count of the assents. "The Landsmeet has spoken. Teyrn Gallagher Wulff, the Crown passes into your hands the responsibility for the teyrnir of Gwaren and its people, to be governed by you and your heirs in justice and mercy for all the days that follow."

The newly created Teyrn came out and knelt to the Queen, she raised him and spoke quietly in his ear, then spoke to the Landsmeet.

"My lords and ladies, there will be a fifteen minute recess, then we shall return to other business no less urgent...if hopefully a little less dramatic."


	55. Chapter 55

Most of the nobles had taken the opportunity to retreat to the far end of the hall where mulled wine and cider was being served. Alistair neatly took a jug and some cups from a passing servant, pouring deftly and giving the first cup to the Queen. While Anora took the opportunity to murmur something to her fiance, Muirnara turned her attention to her brother. He had the half smile on his face that she knew so well from her childhood, usually seen when he was about to be brought to account for a misdeed by one of her parents. He held his hands up. "I know, Muir, I know. I should have told you. But honestly, when could I have told you? Before this morning, I had seen you only three times since the Archdemon fell. On the first occasion you were just coming round from ten days of unconsciousness. The second time was the morning of your wedding. The third was in the Alienage with several hundred elves looking on. Somehow it just never seemed to be the right moment..."

_But I think now that Cauthrien nearly told us on the day of the Battle of Denerim, when we retook the Westgate. I always wondered what it was that she had been about to say just before she went back to the healers. Now I know. But she was right not to say it - if I had known then that my brother lived, would anything I did that day have been different? And if he had fallen that day, I would have lost him twice - been given hope and then had that hope taken again. She was right._

"Well, you couldn't possibly have picked a more dramatic moment if you had tried." Muirnara kissed Fergus on the cheek. "I'm glad for you. Glad for both of you."

Fergus drew her into a hug. "The day we married - the Docks were under siege, she fought her way in over a wall and down the roof of a house to bring more arrows to the Dalish archers. Came jumping down from a burning roof with two sacks tied around her neck and blood on both her blades - saw there was nowhere clear to land below and just leapt into my arms. I caught her, we stood there for a second and I said "Marry me, you crazy woman." She laughed, even in the middle of all that death; she thought I was joking. And then I realised that I had never been so serious about anything in my life. I asked her again...and she said yes. Of course, then, we both thought the marriage would last all of a day if we were lucky. Now we are hoping for a lifetime."

As Muirnara turned she saw Cauthrien talking earnestly to Loghain, she had not heard what the woman had said and was surprised to see tears in Cauthrien's eyes, but Loghain cut her short, took her hands in his and kissed her forehead. "Cauthrien, Fergus Cousland has gained himself a worthy wife and Highever has gained a formidable Teyrna. You have nothing to apologise to me for. And perhaps," he added with a flash of his customary sardonic wit, "you might start learning to call me by my given name, at least in private? Unless you wish me to address you as Teyrna all the time in retaliation?"

She seemed shocked. "Of course not, my lord!" she blurted out, and then realised what she had said, her blush was endearing and made her look younger. Muirnara wondered how old she actually was. Cauthrien took a deep breath. "Of course not...Loghain."

He smiled at her. "Be happy, my girl. If anyone on Thedas has earned it, you have."

Alistair tugged at Muirnara's elbow and presented her with a cup of spiced cider. "And before you start on me as well, Anora's just said it all. And Fergus gave me orders that I wasn't to tell anyone. So it wasn't all my fault, OK?"

She laughed as she took the cup. "I'll let you off. This time. I would imagine that Anora has torn a strip off you with far more lethal courtesy than I ever could have managed."

He smiled wryly. "Oh trust me. She has. I suspect I will hear a great deal more on the subject later unless I can find some good way to distract her once the Landsmeet is over."

The other nobles were making their way back to their seats, most still carrying steaming cups, and the general aura of good humour that had prevailed since Fergus's announcement appeared to be continuing.

Anora stood up and called the Landsmeet to order. "My lords and ladies, we now come to our allies in this fight, without whom this land could not have withstood the Darkspawn onslaught. I wish to honour first the dwarves of Orzammar who came in response to their ancient treaties with the Grey Wardens. Many marched with General Loghain. Others passed through the Deep Roads to reach Denerim ahead of the armies, and by doing so closed an open door on our flank that we did not even know existed. Members of the Legion of the Dead retook Fort Drakon during the Battle of Denerim and held it so that the Wardens could find respite there before the assault on the Archdemon. I have spoken to King Bhelen by messenger and he has made clear that he has his own plans to honour his people. So all I have done there is to send a letter that acknowledges our debt to them, a debt that we cannot repay - and I have pledged him our assistance when he begins the assault to push the Darkspawn back in the Deep Roads which he plans to do once Orzammar is more secure - he has specifically asked for help from the Circle of Magi and I will discuss this with the First Enchanter in the next few days."

There was nodding to this. Anora went on. "This also brings me to the subject of the Circle of Magi, and the assistance they gave us which was out of all proportion to their small numbers. They also deserve our honour for what they did. But again I do not know the best way to reward them for their actions, and I have asked Knight Commander Greagoir and First Enchanter Irving to attend on me when this Landsmeet is done so that various things may be discussed."

_Clever, clever. She has managed to cut the Grand Cleric out of that discussion and done in in such a way that it doesn't look like an insult. Greagoir for all his stiff-necked Templar pride will be far more amenable to whatever suggestions she comes up with. I don't expect her to manage any great changes overnight, but I know that she and Loghain talked a lot about the problems with the Circle and the Chantry - if anyone can find a starting point that everyone can agree to, then she can._

Muirnara could see that the Grand Cleric was vanishing out of a side door - presumably to try to track down the Knight Commander and issue instructions.

_Given that I suspect both Irving and Greagoir will have had their orders to remain unfindable until after Anora has seen them, the Grand Cleric could have quite a long hunt for them. I wonder if there was another reason that Anora wanted the woman out of the way at this point in the Landsmeet?_

She became aware that Anora was still speaking. "And as for the Dalish elves, there is nobody here who does not know the debt we owe to them. They harried the horde all the way from the Brecilian Forest to Denerim, they were the only reinforcements to arrive at the city within a day of the horde's arrival. They covered the evacuation from the docks by holding the Archdemon off the boats and allowing the refugees to board. A third of those who came to Denerim never returned to their clans. How then, my lords and ladies, should we honour such a sacrifice?"

There was some muttered discussion of this. but it was eventually Teyrn Gallagher Wulff who spoke. "My lords and ladies, you have made me Teyrn of Gwaren and as such the Dalish of the Brecilian Forest have become my neighbours. And I hope that we shall both learn to be good neighbours to each other - the time for human fear of the "Wild Elves" and the elven mistrust of the shemlen has to be over. We have fought side by side, we are sisters and brothers in the blood of the battlefields, we cannot go back to our old mistakes. Much of the Brecilian Forest is befouled as are the Western Hills, we will be generations in cleaning what has been destroyed. But there is another part of the Western Hills that remains clean - the Western part of the Hinterlands and the foothills of the Frostback mountains. It is wild terrain, it has never been farmed, but it remains clear of the Blight. My lords, it was the humans who long ago drove the elves from their homelands, it is time that a homeland was returned to them. It is my proposal to the Landsmeet that we grant the Western Hinterlands to the Dalish in perpetuity. Not all will choose to go, many will wish to keep their nomadic ways and wander the forests as they have done for so long. But in time, my lords, it is my hope that the men of Gwaren and the elves of the Brecilian Forest will reclaim and clear the eastern part of the Western Hills and make them fit to live in again, and that the elves who choose to go to the Hinterlands will do the same to the Western part of my old Arling - and one day those lands again will be free of the Blight and Gwaren shall stand with its elven neighbours on east and west borders. We have been allies in this war. Let us take it a step further, and be allies in the peace."

There were nods all over the hall, and a few frowns, mostly from nobles who perhaps had an eye on the Western Hinterlands themselves, but the motion was carried by a large majority. Anora nodded. "The Landsmeet has spoken. My lords and ladies, our offer will be carried to the Dalish clans and we hope indeed that this will be the start of better times for both the elves and the humans in these lands."

Teyrn Fergus spoke. "But, my lords and ladies, the Dalish elves were not the only elves that took up arms in defence of this land. The elves of the Denerim alienage fought with great valour in the Battle of Denerim, and it is now of the city elves that I wish to speak."

There was silence. Fergus went on. "My lords, the Hahren of the Denerim Alienage delivered a stinging indictment on our treatment of elves in this land - he told us that we treat elves as somewhere between backward children and dangerous wild animals. He was right. He also showed me a page of a letter sent to him from Sarethia, the hahren of the Highever alienage which speaks of this very problem. And her criticisms were an arrow to the heart for me, because this is the alienage that I have known since I was a child. The Highever servants for the most part came from that Alienage, and they were my companions and playfellows from childhood. And yet I have found I knew nothing about them, about where they came from, about how they lived. I will read this to you with your permission?"

There were a few murmurs and some nods. Fergus took a dirty sheet of paper out of his pocket.

**"There have always been alienages. They have been around for as long as elves and shems have lived in the same lands. Ours isn't even the worst: they say that Val Royeaux has ten thousand elves living in a space no bigger than Denerim's market. Their walls are supposedly so high that daylight doesn't reach the vhenadahl until midday.**

**But don't be so anxious to start tearing down the walls and picking fights with the guards. They keep out more than they keep in. We don't have to live here, you know. Sometimes a family gets a good break, and they buy a house in the docks, or the outskirts of town. If they're lucky, they come back to the alienage after the looters have burned their house down. The unlucky ones just go to the paupers' field.**

**Here, we're among family. We look out for each other. Here, we do what we can to remember the old ways. The flat-ears who have gone out there, they're stuck. They'll never be human, and they've gone and thrown away being elven, too. So where does that leave them? Nowhere."**

There was silence when he stopped reading. He looked around. Most faces were sombre. A few seemed to have been paying little attention to his words. "My lords - if these are the words of the woman who governs what I believed to be the best ordered and most peaceful Alienage in this country, then the elves have a grievance indeed. And we are all to blame, by our blindness, our complacency and our inaction."

There were some murmurs of agreement and one or two of dissent. He held up a hand. "My lords and ladies, the question is what do we do now? Because over and over in this Landsmeet we have said the same thing - that we cannot go back to our old mistakes. The Teyrn of Gwaren stated it eloquently about our dealings with the Dalish elves. We now must say the same about how we have dealt with the city elves. So - what should we do?"

Most people were silent. Bann Teagan seemed about to stand and say something, then subsided again. Fergus looked from face to face.

Then, to everyone's surprise, Alistair walked into the centre aisle.

"My lords and ladies, if you will hear me, I would like to speak on this subject."

Fergus seemed taken aback, but he bowed. "By all means, Prince Alistair. Please go ahead."


	56. Chapter 56

"My lords and ladies," Alistair began, "As many of you know I was brought up in the Chantry and the writings of the illustrious Sister Petrine were drummed into me on a daily basis, including her well known Folklore and History tome. Many of her writings are indeed wise and thoughtful and a good look at aspects of the land we live in. Her writings on the City Elves are sadly not one of her more shining moments." He paused and then quoted a long passage that as far as Muirnara could remember was close to word perfect, a feat of memory that impressed her.

" **When the holy Exalted March of the Dales resulted in the dissolution of the elven kingdom, leaving a great many elves homeless once again, the Divine Renata I declared that all lands loyal to the Chantry must give the elves refuge within their own walls. Considering the atrocities committed by the elves at Red Crossing, this was a great testament to the Chantry's charity. There was one condition, however-the elves were to lay aside their pagan gods and live under the rule of the Chantry.**

**Some of the elves refused our goodwill. They banded together to form the wandering Dalish elves, keeping their old elven ways-and their hatred of humans-alive. To this day, Dalish elves still terrorize those of us who stray too close to their camps. Most of the elves, however, saw that it was wisest to live under the protection of humans.**

**And so we took the elves into our cities and tried to integrate them. We invited them into our own homes and gave them jobs as servants and farmhands. Here, in Denerim, the elves even have their own quarter, governed by an elven keeper. Most have proven to be productive members of society. Still, a small segment of the elven community remains dissatisfied. These troublemakers and malcontents roam the streets causing mayhem, rebelling against authority and making a general nuisance of themselves."**

He paused. "My lords and ladies, with all due respect to the Sister, this is rubbish. And it is dangerous rubbish."

That startled many people. A few could be seen looking around cautiously in case the Grand Cleric had returned. She hadn't.

_Well, now I know exactly what Anora didn't want the Grand Cleric to hear. Better that this Landsmeet doesn't go down as the one where the Grand Cleric of Ferelden died of apoplexy during a speech by the Crown Prince…_

Alistair went on. "During the Blight, when the Alienage was quarantined for plague the Warden Commander and I entered the place with a couple of our companions. We saw at first hand what was really happening there. The self satisfied tone of the good Sister's writings bears no resemblence to what is really found in the Alienages, the people living a meal from starvation, in overcrowding that we would not find in the worst human slums. The letter that Teyrn Fergus has read makes it clear that Denerim is far from unique. And if as that letter states the Alienage in Val Royeaux is far worse then I never wish to see it. And Sarethia's letter makes it clear that the elves cling to each other for protection that our laws do not give them."

There was silence. At least he appeared to have the attention of most of the Landsmeet and they seemed willing to hear him out.

"But our laws -should- protect them. This is our problem, my lords and ladies. Many of you here lived through the Orlesian occupation and remember what it was like to live in a land where one law applied to one, and one to another." Alistair was getting quite angry and Muirnara silently applauded him, his passion was coming through in his words. "We of Ferelden should have been the last to impose such a life on others when so many of us lived under such injustice. I return you to Teyrn Fergus's opening statement. We are shamed by what has happened here and what has been allowed to happen. But we cannot change the past. We can only now look to the future."

Fergus stepped forward. "My lords and ladies, Prince Alistair and the Queen and I all talked to the hahren of the Denerim alienage the day before this Landsmeet. He could have asked for many things for his people. Instead, this is what he asked of us."

Fergus stared at the banner of Andraste's Flame. "He said that he did not want money given to the elves, or power, or land. He said "Give us nothing that a human could be jealous of, for an elf who arouses the envy of a human is not an elf who lives long or happily. What I ask for my people is this, that you should give us that which is the birthright of the poorest human child born in the slums of this city, that by their work, by their wisdom, even by their good fortune, they should be able to rise above the circumstances they were born in and be able to make a better life for themselves and their kin. That is what I would ask of you. But I do not know how you can do it.""

The Landsmeet chamber was silent. Fergus looked around. "He also said this. "Let my people bring themselves out of their pit by their own hands and their own work. Let nobody be able to say that we were given aid that should have gone to others. Give us the right and the chance to be more than we are, and let people admit, however grudgingly, that we worked for what we gained, and we earned our right to it.""

Arlessa Alfstanna stood. "My lords and ladies, Teyrn Fergus has told us the words of a very wise man. And as Prince Alistair has said, I am shamed by his words, because it was too easy to turn away and not see what was happening in our cities, in our land. Waking Sea stands to support the words of the Denerim elven leader. As he says, I do not know how it can be achieved. But I can see that it must be done."

Teyrn Gallagher Wulff stood. "Gwaren stands in support."

"Redcliffe stands in support"

"Highever stands in support"

"Rainsfere stands in support"

One by one, the Arls and Banns came to their feet to add their voices. Anora raised her voice. "The Landsmeet has spoken. Now, my lords and ladies, I have indeed a proposal to put to you as to how this can be done."

Servants were distributing maps of Denerim, the Alienage and Dock areas marked in red and blue. When all had maps in front of them, Anora continued. "Before the Siege of Denerim, much of the dock area of this city was derelict, as indeed it is in many cities. And many of those disused wharfs and warehouses were Crown property, either by default or by original ownership. The Alienage and the Docks are adjacent to one another, and indeed many of the Alienage elves are dock workers. I intend that those derelict buildings should be put in order and converted to apartments where families can live. The rent will be waived for the first two years, and set at a low market rate after that. And half of those apartments will be offered to human families of dock workers, the other half to elven."

People were nodding. Anora went on. "There will be a new guard force assigned to patrol both the Docks and the Alienage. It will be under the command of Sergeant Kylon of the Denerim City Guard, and it will also be comprised of half human, half elven members. And it will be the task of this new guard force to show by its actions that humans and elves can work side by side as comrades, not as masters and servants. And that the law of this land will be enforced fairly. We have heard Hahren Sarethia's words about how an elf that moves out of the Alienage risks destruction of their property and death - my lords, no more! If a lawless human kills an elf, they will hang for it, just as an elf who attacks a human will. We will have one law in this land!"

Her voice had raised. She paused to let her words sink in. "Not all elves will choose to live outside the Alienage, perhaps not even most. But this will be a beginning."

Fergus nodded. "It is my intention to do the same in Highever, my lords."

The meeting looked to be dissolving into individual discussions. Anora took control again. "Elves who serve with this guard unit will earn the right which no elf currently has, to bear arms within city walls. Teyrn Fergus has stated to me that he will give the same right to those in Highever who serve with the guard there. And we shall appoint a Bann of the Alienage who will be the voice of the elven people in the Landsmeet and have voting rights here. I shall ask Hahren Valendrian to take on that task, or to name one of his people to do it. Now, this Bann shall answer to the Arl of Denerim...and this brings me to another problem."

Arlessa Alfstanna snorted. "The fact that since the Arl of Denerim died and his unlamented heir perished in the Denerim Siege, that we don't actually have an Arl for this prospective Bann to answer to?"

"Exactly. And I have a name to propose to you to take this task, which is likely to be a difficult one. It will require someone who will speak his mind, who is not easily swayed by arguments, and who can govern this troubled city with wisdom and compassion. There was a man who had the courage to stand up and question Teyrn Loghain's decisions publically after Ostagar, when most of the Landsmeet would rather have ignored them. This man acted as Arl of Redcliffe in all but name during some of the most difficult times that Arling has ever seen, while his brother the Arl lay in a coma for many months. Bann Teagan Guerrin, the Crown wishes, if the Landsmeet approves, to raise you as Arl of Denerim. We will need, more than ever, to have an Arl who will tell us what is really happening in this city and not what we would like to hear. I believe you can and will do that."

Teagan appeared completely stunned. Loghain leaned over to Muirnara. "An excellent choice. If he is not too much under his brother's influence."

"I don't believe he will be. Bann Teagan is very much his own man - more so perhaps than his brother would like. And holding equal rank to his brother will lift him out of Eamon's political shadow, even if Eamon is also Chancellor."

There seemed to be general agreement for the proposal. Muirnara could not actually remember a Landsmeet which had had so few arguments.

After Teagan had formally been invested as Arl and the room had quietened, Anora spoke again. "And finally, my lords and ladies, we come to those who are not last or least in our hearts. The Grey Wardens who died at Ostagar, the two surviving Wardens who raised a nation, and the Warden Commander who slew an Archdemon." Her voice was quiet, almost sad. "The Grey Wardens have had a strange history in this land, barred from it for so many years after Sophia Dryden's rebellion, and only returned to the land in small numbers by King Maric. My lords, we cannot, we dare not leave this land so unprotected again. The Wardens must be returned to this land in numbers that will secure us through the next years when I understand we will still have active Darkspawn venturing onto the surface. In all other lands the order has a network of keeps and training manors, and keep their numbers at fighting strength, this is how Ferelden must be. We must recruit and train our own Wardens here, so we are not reliant on the generosity of the Wardens of other lands. Should, Maker forbid, the need arise, let us be able to call upon our own, the Wardens who are born and bred in Ferelden and have the courage and stubbornness of Ferelden. My lords, are we all agreed on this?"

There was noisy assent. Anora smiled

_She was right. She said she knew how it could be done, how the Landsmeet could accept the Wardens here in numbers again, and she has done it. She has reminded them all that Wardens are also men and women, and if we recruit and train our own, then the Ferelden Wardens will also be Fereldan men and women. Born of this land, with Fereldan soil in their bones, with the courage and the stubbornness that brought a nation to throw off its Orlesian oppressors and rise up. We are Wardens, we are also Fereldans. Loghain had the right of it, before the Battle of Denerim._

Muirnara became aware that Anora had turned to her and Loghain.

"Then let it be known that the Crown of Ferelden grants to the Grey Wardens in perpetuity the revenues of the Arling of Amaranthine, together with the fortress of Vigil's Keep and the fortress of Soldiers Peak. All military service from that arling to the Crown is remitted, and the Wardens shall have leave to recruit throughout the country and train as they need to retain their strength. The Right of Conscription is confirmed and stated in the records of this Landsmeet, although," and Anora smiled, "given the current levels of hero worship for the order, you may be more in need of reinforcements to beat back the flood of volunteers!"

Laughter filled the room, Anora let it run for a minute and then held up her hand for silence. "But, my lords and ladies, there is one provision I must make there. The Landsmeet has ended the law that prevents a Grey Warden from holding noble title in this land, but the Landsmeet has not remitted the law that prevents a title being held by those of foreign birth! With the exception of a very few Orlesians who took Fereldan citizenship after the occupation ended, all nobility in this land are Fereldan born. Therefore although the revenues of the Arling are granted to the Wardens, the right of governance of that Arling is not."

_What on earth is she doing?_

"Fereldans have earned the right in blood, and grief, and hard labour to be governed by their own, and I will not set that right aside. I cannot. We cannot have a situation where a foreign Warden could be brought in as overlord to Fereldan freedmen at the will of the First Warden! Therefore to safeguard this, while the revenues of the Arling are granted to the Order, it is our wish that the governance of that Arling and the administration of those revenues should remain as they always have, with an Arl and Arlessa to be the voice of Amaranthine in the Landsmeet - and therefore I cannot imagine a single person in this room will object to what I bring to you now for approval."

The Landsmeet had guessed her intent. People were standing, the cheering had started. Anora smiled. "The Landsmeet has spoken. The arling and the people of Amaranthine are given into your hands, Arl Loghain Mac Tir, Arlessa Muirnara Cousland Mac Tir, to be governed by you and your joint heirs in wisdom and mercy for all the days that follow. Maker grant that the days be long, and that they may be peaceful."

Somehow the wellwishers, and the cheering, and the shouts of approval seemed very distant, as thought they were happening in a dream. She felt the warmth of Loghain's hand come into hers, her eyes searched for Fergus, standing with Cauthrien and smiling at her. And then suddenly, through the mist of tears in her eyes it appeared to her that it was no longer her brother there, but her father - not the cool image of him that had faced her in the Gauntlet but Bryce as he had lived, his eyes warm and approving of her. And beside him stood Eleanor, tall and graceful, her hand resting on her husband's shoulder and her pride in her daughter plain on her face

_I am Muirnara Cousland Mac Tir. Daughter of Bryce and Eleanor. Sister to Fergus. Aunt to Oren. Last survivor as far as I knew of all those named, until by the grace of the Maker and beyond all hope my brother was returned to me. I avenged them. Vengeance does not end pain. The pain ends when you find the courage to rebuild - a life, a family, a country._

The image of her parents was fading, but a half whisper of loved voices remained.

_**You have made us proud, daughter. Go on and prosper.** _

And then it was Fergus and Cauthrien there again, and her tears were wet on her cheeks, and the only thing in the world that she was sure was still real was Loghain's hand in hers.


	57. Epilogue

Epilogue - House In The Hills - early summer.

The little house would hardly be recognisible now as its former winter incarnation. Many hands had carted stone, sawed logs, built fences and paths, limewashed walls. When Loghain had made the request of Anora that an attempt should be made to trace the original owner of the land, the Queen of Ferelden had dealt with the problem in characteristic direct fashion. The land had been surveyed and valued by an independent representative of the Merchants Guild, Anora had lodged that sum in a bank deposit and then officially transferred the land to her father's name. "In the highly unlikely event that any representative of the Salaric family ever comes forward to make a claim," she told Loghain, "they can have three choices. They can accept the full market value of the land in gold, or they can accept an equal acreage of land of the same quality elsewhere, or they can enforce their claim on that farmhold. If they do the last, we will make absolutely clear to them that if they succeed, the Crown will immediately put in a claim for thirty years of unpaid land taxes dating back to the end of the Orlesian occupation. Since that probably now comes to most of the value of the land, I suspect under the circumstances they will choose to be reasonable."

The farmhold had yet to be given a name. No name for it could be found on the Denerim records. Various suggestions had been put forward (the suggestions from Oghren had simply been dismissed out of hand and the ones from Zevran were dismissed after the reluctant elf was forced to translate them into the Kings Tongue). So they had just spoken of the place as the "house in the hills" and somehow the name had stuck.

The house itself now had solid walls, and a shingled roof to replace the old reed thatching long gone. Broken stone had been hauled from the ruins of Denerim once the track in the hills was dry enough to cope with the wagons, and a smaller cottage had been constructed adjacent to the house. Loghain had questioned the need for it. Anora had pointed out that given he and Muirnara were never likely to have the luxury of long time to spend there, a farm manager and his family would be necessary. He hadn't bothered to suggest the manager and family could just live in the main house. Anora clearly had taken over this project and since Muirnara had voiced no complaints, Loghain was willing to humour his daughter. He had however insisted on selecting his own farm manager and had given the job to Wirsion, the former Night Elf who had commanded the archers in the Alienage during the Battle of Denerim. Loghain had remembered that the man had been a farmhand many years ago and so understood the principles of caring for a smallholding. Wirsion had seemed amazed to be remembered and even more amazed to be offered the post but had gratefully accepted. Both the gratitude and the surprise had been another knife in Loghain's heart, and he accepted both as blows that he had earned. But the elf had cheerfully moved his family within the week (wife, widowed daughter and younger son) to the farmhold and had camped out in the barn without complaint while the rebuilding was going on. Wirsion's older son had remained in Denerim, he was one of the earliest recruits with the new mixed guard unit and from the reports Loghain occasionally heard from the boy's proud father he had Wirsion's talent for archery and was acquitting himself well.

In addition to the rebuilding of house and byre, a lot of scrubland which had been infested with brambles, nettles and seedling trees had been roughly cleared and fenced; a sow and her litter of piglets had been turned out on it to clear the roots. They would be taken off it again in late autumn and the piglets sent for sale or slaughtered at home, but by then the work would be done and the land cleared and fertilised well enough to take a plow ready for spring planting. A further five acres of rough grazing had been fenced off for a horse paddock, which would be shared with a small flock of milk goats, the land here at present was too poor for cattle and cows were both very hard to come by and greatly overpriced in the wake of the Blight. And the small orchard near the house which amazingly still had a few living fruit trees had been scythed and the dead trees removed to make space for young saplings. Fergus had sent plum trees from Highever and they had carefully been planted - nobody was certain how well they would do in the heavier clay soils of the Denerim hills but the abundance of sloe plum and bullace in the surrounding woodland suggested they should have a decent chance with care.

And now there was a picnic taking place under the aged apple trees. Wynne, Leliana and Zevran sat or lay on blankets spread under the trees; Darrian, now a year old and a very active small boy was seated in the middle. He had ridden up to the farm that morning seated in front of Loghain on a folded blanket laid over the pommel of the bay stallion's saddle and with a belt securing him to his father's waist - from the first he had shown no fear of horses and had also shown a distinct preference for his father's company, any suggestion that he should ride with his nursemaid was met with protests and it was easier not to have the tantrum in the first place. He was at present relatively tired and subdued and had been bribed into good behaviour with the loan of Leliana's lute laid on the floor beside, which he was cheerfully plucking discords on with both hands. The half grown Nut lay beside him, one ear twitching each time a string twanged. Hazel was pretending to be asleep and not hearing any of it.

Zevran lazily leaned over to refill Wynne's wine cup. "So, my dearest Wynne, you still intend to take this trip to Tevinter? I cannot convince you that Antiva is a far better choice for a holiday?"

Wynne accepted the cup and shook her head. "I only talked about Tevinter because I was planning to take Shale there. But Shale refused anyway - she said even if there was a chance that some Tevinter mage could turn her back into a dwarf again she had no wish to revert to being small and squishy. Before Sten left for Seheron he offered her a place with the Qunari and she considered it, and then of course the offer came in from King Bhelen to join the Legion of the Dead in driving back spawn in the Deep Roads when the main assault starts this autumn. She decided that since there was no way she could kill every pigeon in Ferelden, killing Darkspawn was a worthy alternative career. So now she is gone, I will return to the Circle at least for a couple of months while Leliana is away, but we plan to meet in the autumn when the College of Magi meet in Cumberland - I will be going with my old friend Inez to that meeting and Leliana will join me there when she and Brother Genitivi have finished the first surveys at the Sanctum of the Ashes."

"Oh, is that what they are calling that temple now?"

Leliana laughed. "Well, it has a better ring to it than "that freezing temple above the village full of lunatics" which is what we used to call it."

"True. So, Leliana, you are returning to the Chantry?"

"Not exactly. I agreed to join the expedition because we know that we did not clear out all the tunnels there - before they start allowing pilgrimages there it would make sense to be sure that there are no baby dragons lurking there to eat the pilgrims? The Crown is allowing a detachment of the royal guard to assist with the clearing of the temple, and the Circle is sending some mages and templars too."

"Oh, are these to be the first of these new "bondings?"

"I think so." Leliana passed her empty wine cup to the elf. "There have only been eighteen pairs approved so far by the Chantry and the Circle. But there may be more under discussion that we do not know about."

Wynne looked slightly disapproving. "I cannot say that I think this is a good idea. But Her Majesty agreed it with both the First Enchanter and the Knight Commander, and somehow all three of them got it past the Grand Cleric, so time will now tell."

Leliana looked surprised. "I thought you would be approving? It is a chance after all for more freedom for the mages, even if it is carefully controlled freedom?"

Wynne sighed. "I don't know why I distrust the idea. In principle it seems reasonable enough - that a mage should be able to choose a templar that they trust enough to offer a public vow of obedience to, that the templar should have the right to accept or refuse but if they accept it they then take legal responsibility for the actions of that mage and vow to be the protector of that mage, and that the pair should then be able to work outside the Circle assigned to a Chantry somewhere. I can see how many safeguards were worked into it - that the mage has to be the one to choose both to go out from the Circle, and which templar they will go with; that the Templar has to have been in the Order for over ten years, the Mage has to be a full year past their Harrowing and preferably more...oh, a lot of thought went into this. I can see that. But you will not stop the public distrust of mages overnight just by letting them out with a "guardian" - the Circle exists to protect mages, not just control them."

Zevran handed Leliana her filled wine cup. "But Wynne, my dear, how can this ever change unless people see that mages do not have to be feared? At present there is more acceptance of mages in this land than there has ever been - people saw them fight with the armies that drove back the blight, saw them working as healers in the hospitals. I have heard complaints from some people who should know better that the vow of obedience is demeaning and makes the mage little more than the slave of their chosen templar." He snorted. "Fools. A wife vows obedience to her husband, a vassal vows obedience to his liege lord. This is a relationship that people can see and understand, and put into the context of what they already know. And it shows them something more important still, that a mage can give their word and keep it and that word can be trusted."

Leliana nodded. "I can imagine that a number of those bondings may yet end up as marriages in themselves. Templars are not vowed to chastity, and mages are not forbidden to marry, though the permission for such a marriage is given or withheld by the Chantry. As long as care is taken that there should be no children of the union, I see no reason why such a marriage should not be a blessed and desired culmination of such a partnership."

"Ever the romantic, my dear Leliana."

"No, she is right." Wynne had been nodding to the conversation. "I am an old woman, and change is something I deal with badly. But when my own pupil Petra took one of the first bondings...well, I know her to be a clever and level headed young woman. She would not have made such a decision lightly. And there seems to be a genuine strong affection between her and Ser Liam, he was her partner throughout the assault on Denerim. They both plan to go back with Revered Mother Lissala to West Hill, there is a need there for mages with knowledge of herbalism and healing and she also showed great skill with growing things when she studied with Inez." She smiled at Leliana. "It may yet be that you are right about a marriage there given time."

Zevran chuckled. "Do we know anyone else who has taken a bonding? How about that young mage Neria...are she and Ser Cullen also planning to continue with their partnership that began in the army?"

"No. She has indeed taken a bonding but it was not to Ser Cullen. When the Dalish refused the offer of a homeland..."

Leliana looked astonished. "They did what?"

"Well, the problem should have been foreseen. They said that with a fixed home the Chantry would never agree not to come among them, and they reserved the right as they always have to escort any templar who appears among them out of their camps at the wrong end of an ironbark bow..."

Zevran was now laughing openly. "Did the Chantry have collective apoplexy when the Dalish reply arrived?"

"I think Queen Anora found some way of smoothing things down. Anyway, they said they would accept one templar among them as a gesture of goodwill if a Dalish keeper took responsibility for his good behaviour..."

Zevran was now laughing so hard he had to put his winecup down and Darrian looked up wide eyed from his musical efforts to see what was happening. "I cannot imagine any way that Queen Anora can have possibly smoothed that offer over..."

Wynne smiled. "You underestimate our good Queen. She offered them the blind templar Ser Otto and persuaded him to accept Neria Surana as his bonding - her father was Dalish, her mother from the Denerim Alienage and she has known Ser Otto since she was a child. The Queen presented the whole thing to the Chantry as a breakthrough - the first time the Dalish had willingly accepted a Templar among them. While the Chantry were still purring about that, she sent the offer of Ser Otto and Neria Surana to the Dalish and pointed out they surely could not see a blind man as a threat, a templar who needed his mage as much as a guide for his feet as a guard for his conduct. It surprised them and made them look like they were the ones in the wrong. Dalish don't like feeling silly any more than anyone else. So Neria and Otto have gone to the Mahariel clan, and the first reports back from them have been extremely promising - the Dalish seem to like Ser Otto and they have welcomed Neria back as a lost daughter."

Leliana was shaking her head. "Your Queen Anora must have been an Orlesian noblewoman in another life. I have never known a woman who played the Great Game with such consummate skill."

"Better not let Loghain hear you say that," Zevran teased.

"Where is Loghain anyway?" Wynne was peering back towards the house.

"He's torturing Muirnara in the back paddock."

"Again? Wasn't the session this morning enough?"

"Apparently not."

Wynne shook her head. "Those two...well, anyway. So that's Petra and Ser Liam, Neria and Ser Otto - the only other one I know of is Sabhya Amell who attended Muirnara after the death of the Archdemon. He has taken a bonding with Ser Bryant from Lothering - the man was badly injured during the evacuation of that village and has only recently been well enough to assume light duties. Fergus Cousland requested that Sabhya go to Highever as castle healer and Bryant has kin in Highever so that worked well all round."

Zevran had a sly smile on his face. "And that way the Knight Commander didn't have to worry about Sabhya bringing his Mabari back to the Circle Tower."

"Well, yes, that might have been a consideration there."

Leliana smiled. "So when do you go to Amaranthine? Kristoff and Oghren have been there at least a month now, have they not?"

"Muirnara says the Wardens and recruits will all leave at the end of this sevenday. Once we go back to Denerim tomorrow we will close up the Warden compound there and the servants will follow us to Vigil's Keep a week after we leave. Mistress Malia apparently wanted a week to clean the place from top to bottom before she left."

Leliana laughed openly at Zevran. "Why does that not surprise me?"

"Of course," Zevran added, "this is entirely dependent on whether our lovely Warden Commander is fit to ride a horse by the end of the week after Loghain finishes with her."

* * *

"You're a sadist, Loghain Mac Tir."

"Cursing me will get you nowhere, madam. If you actually listened to me instead..."

The roan mare Rose was trotting obediently around Loghain on the end of a long rope with Muirnara on her back. Muirnara had her stirrups crossed on the mare's neck in front of her and was grimly clinging to the saddle with one hand.

"If I have to do much more of this today I won't be able to walk, let alone ride."

"All you have to do is stop gripping with your knees, Muirnara. Let your legs hang down, let your back do the work. Stop fighting her. Move with her. Two good circles and we'll stop."

"You said that ten minutes ago."

"We still haven't had two good circles."

"And I maintain you are a sadist." Muirnara with a close to superhuman effort forced her knees down and away from the saddle.

"Better, madam. Much, much better." He eased the mare back down to a walk and gathered the long rein up in his hand. "That'll do. Slip down and I'll unsaddle her."

The slipping down was more of an undignified scramble, but she managed it without mishap and sat down on the grass, leaning back against the fence with a martyred sigh. Loghain slipped the saddle and bridle off and turned the mare loose, she wandered off towards the far end of the paddock. He sat down beside his wife. "A quarter hour of that every morning and we'd soon have you secure in the saddle again."

"A quarter hour of that every morning and I can tell you, Loghain, you'll be sleeping in a different bed."

He laughed. "Temper, temper. Maybe we'll settle for every other day instead. For now."

Muirnara gave a half smile. "Anyway, there's something I need to talk to you about. Avernus sent a letter to me, the courier arrived late last night. You need to read this too."

Loghain raised an eyebrow. "This doesn't sound like good news."

"Well - yes and no. You read it. You'll see."

She passed him a folded sheet of vellum, he gave her a searching look and then unfolded it. He read the words aloud.

_My dear Warden Commander_

_I trust that this missive finds you well. The Keep remains peaceful and the Drydens continue to be quiet and thoughtful neighbours but some things they have told me on returning from trading trips have left me profoundly uneasy._

_As you are well aware a Blight is followed by a period of Thaw when there will still be increased random encounters of Darkspawn on the surface. But on their most recent journey Levi Dryden met with a young Dwarf who was attached to one of the Legion units and had been sent by his Commander to bring word to the Wardens of atypical behaviour of Darkspawn in the Deep Roads. The Darkspawn are indeed returning to the Deep Roads but they are not displaying the random behaviour one would expect of the Spawn when the Archdemon's influence has gone. The withdrawal into the Deeps is almost described as orderly, and there is a general movement in one direction - to the east._

Loghain paused to curse the old mage's writing. "This vellum looks like a spider crawled into and out of an inkwell and then walked over the paper." He went on reading.

_I am unable to give you any certainty as to the meaning of this. The dreams of the Archdemon no longer come to me, this is no Blight starting again. But Darkspawn do not think, do not act rationally, do not act as a unit, and yet somehow they are doing so. I showed you the Prophecy of the Architect when you came to Soldier's Peak, and you told me of your encounter with a rational Darkspawn, and I cannot help thinking the two are linked. If any further news comes to me, or I find any further references I will send them to you, my research takes less of my time than it did and I have more time for reading."_

Loghain paused again. "The Architect. You said over and over that you thought you had dreamed of him in the ten days you were unconscious, did you ever remember any of that dream?"

"No." Muirnara shook her head. "I've tried and tried, and it just slips away from me every time. Go on reading. The kick in the guts is in the last paragraph."

He looked at her for a moment and went back to the letter.

_Which brings me to the other news I have. The flask that I enclose with this letter is the result of the research I have done. Because of the strictures you have laid upon me, there will be no more of this potion and what there is here is a dose for one person. But I have tested and tested again, and while this does not do what I had hoped which was to block the Calling completely, it has the odd effect of walling the greater part of the Taint into certain organs of the body and no others. I cannot be certain how exactly it does this, but there are two possible results to this. On a Warden who has Joined in his later years, as your husband has, it has always been known that the Calling may come much faster than the twenty five to thirty years that we normally are granted. By this localising of the Taint in the body an older Warden may indeed get the span that we are allotted, with the risk at the end of a much quickened Calling once the Taint gets too great for the body to bear. I believed initially that the potion would have no effect at all on a younger Warden, and then I realised that for a woman it potentially blocks the Taint from her womb. It would not give you extra years of life, Warden Commander, but it might permit you to bear a living child._

_Whatever you decide, my good wishes, such as they are, are with you both._

_Yours in service_

_Avernus_

They stared at each other in silence. Muirnara took the small metal flask out of its leather pouch and laid it on the ground between them.

Loghain picked it up and weighed it in his hand. "I wonder how many lives ended for the sake of this tiny bottle. Because those lives are the only thing that is stopping me destroying this right now."

"Probably the reason he put it in a metal bottle. If it had been in glass, the urge to smash it would have been to great for me to withstand."

"I hear you."

They were both silent for a minute. Muirnara broke the silence. "I want you to drink it."

He looked at her and opened his mouth to speak, she shook her head. "There was no choice to make. I have a husband. I have a son. I will not sacrifice what I have for the sake of the ghost of a child that may never be. I want you at my side for all the years we are given, there is too much coming still for me to deal with alone again - the Architect, Flemeth, Morrigan, none of those stories have ended. You told me once all your worst mistakes were made when you thought that the weight of a nation was on your shoulders and your shoulders alone. Whatever comes now, we will deal with it. Together."

He still seemed hesitant, she unstoppered the phial and passed it to him. "For the sake of a nation that needs you still; for the sake of a son who will have his father beside him as he grows to manhood; for my sake, that we may have the years together that a Warden is given."

His eyes met hers and he formally saluted her with the bottle and drained it. "And there I was thinking that Darkspawn blood was the last poison I would have to swallow." He spat, trying to clear the taste from his mouth. "Do you think the others have finished all the wine?"

She managed a smile and took the letter and the bottle from him. "If they have, then I am sure Wirsion has something hidden away that we can beg off him."

Loghain walked away towards the house, and Muirnara moved to follow him, then stopped. At the edge of the woods, beyond the paddock, a gravid wolf bitch was sitting under a tree, as quietly as a pet dog. Her amber eyes met Muirnara's for one moment. A clear message passed between woman and wolf in that gaze.

_I made you a promise. I do not know if I can keep it._

And an answer had passed between wolf and woman

_You will do what you must, as you always have._

And then the wolf was gone, and only the shadows dappled the land where she had been.

* * *

**The Hourglass was first turned on the 11th of March 2011 and the last grains of sand fell on the 23rd of November 2011. It has been a strange journey and a story that frequently led me to places I did not expect it to go! So many of you came on the journey with me - readers, reviewers, betas, I can't possibly name you all and I thank you for being my companions on the road! But the story isn't over (stories never are!) and the tale continues in the upcoming sequel Hour of Prophecy.  
**

**Special thanks, hugs and love go to the Evil Siblings - Gene Dark who wrote the first review and gave me the courage to tell the story, Shakespira and Enaid Aderyn who so often pushed the story in a new direction when the muse was having a bad day - and Josie Lange who was there from the first chapter to the last word. You guys mean more to me than you will ever know. This is your tale as much as it is mine.**

_"We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time." - T S Eliot **  
**_


	58. Afterword - Author's Note

The Hourglass was first published on fanfiction.net, and because of the ratings rules, it existed as a main narrative and several out-takes.  Here, the entire story is told for the first time in its correct order.  I hope that readers who knew the original story will enjoy reading the "definitive edition" and that those of you new to the story of Loghain and Muirnara have enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it!


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